The Neighborhood
by Sugary Snicket
Summary: The Clearwater family has just moved to Gotham, & their life so far is idyllic, except for their odd next door neighbor who likes to wear purple suits. Little do they know the sick game they will play the pawns in... Rated for language & some violence.
1. Chapter One: Newcomers

_A/N – Nothing happens in suburbia._

_At least that's what they say, anyway. Look at any action film, or any comic for that matter, and you'll notice they almost always happen in big cities, rarely in suburban areas. And for good reason too – nothing interesting happens there, neighborhood watch programs supposedly keep crime relatively low, and the trials of the Average Joe pale in comparison to the struggles and conflict someone like Batman, James Bond, John Bourne, Superman, or Neo go through. Who wants to read a comic or watch a movie about an average guy who moved to the suburbs and thereafter has nothing happen? After all, the main reason baddies have such eccentrically decorated or obvious lairs could be because they are daring the hero to enter (the Riddler, for example), or could be because they need special conditions to survive as metahumans (like Mr. Freeze). Still others are incredibly vain or highly eccentric and actually have that strange a taste in décor (the Joker, for example). For some, the reasons are multiple. Think about it and you'll see what I mean – why would Superman look for Lex Luthor in a small community when he's far more likely to be in a tower somewhere in Metropolis? Villains just love big, boisterous lairs, the bigger and more imposing or impressive, the better._

_Yet some villains are smarter than the average criminal, and this is what separates the ordinary criminals from the true super villains. Most of them are very intelligent, as well as very insane, very evil, and very dangerous. These villains are either just smart enough, or just twisted enough, to make their abode in a suburb. After all, Spider-Man would never look for Doctor Octopus in a community with a neighborhood watch, right? A suburb is seemingly too boring for a villain to set up shop – you'd expect Sinestro to be leading the Sinestro Corps, not in a suburban neighborhood a few miles outside of Hal Jordan's hometown. People living there feel safe, near the booming business and convenience of the city, but far from the crime the city contains, confident it won't spill out further (except in cases of inner-city areas). In some cases, they're even protected from villains that set up hidden lairs in more rural locales – __The Killing Joke__ wouldn't have worked without the carnival the Joker dragged Jim Gordon to, after all, and you just don't find a carnival anywhere else but a rural setting._

_And that, in comics, is precisely what makes a suburban neighborhood a great place for a super villain to set up shop, especially in a gritty comic universe like the one in Batman. Nobody expects the Penguin to be hiding in the house next door, and nobody dares to dream that Mr. Zsasz might be committing a murder in the neighborhood while your children play blissfully unaware in the backyard. Nobody ever expects to find Catwoman, Harley Quinn, and Poison Ivy having a pool party three blocks down, or for Scarecrow to hand out candy to children on Halloween. The concept of a super villain setting up shop in our neighborhoods, where they could be our next-door neighbors, standing on the doorstep and asking to borrow a cup of sugar so they can make poisoned cookies for Batman and Robin tomorrow, is a terrifying concept – one that few have tapped into, which is very unfortunate. This story is an attempt to play with that idea, the idea that suburbia can very well become, as pop star Rihanna once put it, "Disturbia", and that even an unassuming neighborhood in the Comicverse can be a medium in which epic battles between good and evil are fought._

_**Disclaimer:**__ The characters represented herein except for the protagonist and his family are the property of DC Comics. They are not mine, not created by me, and I am only borrowing them for the purposes of the story. I promise I'll put them safely back in Gotham where they belong when I'm done. ;) As a caveat, this story takes place in the DC Universe Pre-New-DCU. It was written several years before the reboot and as such places the characters in the setting before that point; it is in continuity with THAT universe and refers to events from THAT universe, not the DCnU. This story also takes a MUCH less violent interpretation of the main antagonist and makes the danger more psychological, though there is some violence there as well (it's just not as important to the plot)._

* * *

><p><strong>The Neighborhood<strong>

**Chapter One: Newcomers**

He did have to hand it to his wife as he peered out the living room window onto the street outside – the house _was_ very beautiful. Or, at least, as beautiful as a Gotham suburb could promise.

The ad in the paper hadn't lied – the grass outside was well kept, if slightly dingy from the city's pervasive smog, the walkways trimmed and neat. Rounded yew bushes flanked the driveway and front of the house, their reddish berries bright against the evergreen foliage. The house itself bore the pale, soft baby blue hue of the sky on a summer's day, its two stories containing a master bedroom, a kitchen-dinette, two bathrooms, and a pool (currently empty) out back. The inside of the abode was plainly furnished, since they had just finished moving in from a small, two-room apartment four states away. It was still by no means a very large home for a two-story building, but it was a mansion compared to the box-like hovel they lived in before.

"Look, Robert," said his wife Alicia, pointing out a small alcove attached to the master bedroom. "Couldn't we use this as a workspace? I know you like it quiet when you write…"

"Yes, that'll work very well, honey," Robert replied with a soft smile. His wife… God, he loved her, cherished and adored every aspect of her, from her strong, determined demeanor to her beautiful wavy auburn hair and the way it fell down her back in fiery waves. Even her hardheaded stubbornness on issues delighted him, for he knew she always listened to him when it came down to brass tacks, and often granted him another perspective on things he otherwise wouldn't have noticed. Her logical, mathematically oriented mind perfectly complimented his creativity, together creating an unstoppable force that could solve any problem thrown at it. The only trouble was that Alicia was always busy with her banking job – it wasn't that she loved numbers more than him, no; it was simply that the infinite beauty and clarity of numbers and calculations made her happy. And who, after all, was he to interrupt her happiness? Besides, at the end of the day Robert knew he was still her best friend and the love of her life, no quantity could change that. How such a beautiful, perfect creature came to love his gangly frame, messy black hair, and thick-framed reading glasses, he would never understand fully… but then again, perhaps he never wanted to understand.

"It's perfect," he repeated. "We could make it a shared workspace, or –"

"Don't even start," Alicia teased, drawing her sensuous arms in an embrace about Robert's form and pulling him close. "This is your workspace. I'm taking the larger one downstairs – I don't need a window to daydream out of when I'm running taxes, or finishing bank statements…"

"Well, you never know." A charming smile from Robert. "You _might_ need a window…"

"I don't need a window!" Alicia laughed, "And besides, I need background noise, you know that… it helps my brain focus, keeps it thinking…"

"Mm, I know… alright, this space is mine, then. We can put a roll-top desk in the den, and –"

"Daddy?" a child's sweet voice asked. A tug on Robert's pants leg made him peer down at his daughter, just turned five. Two innocent blue eyes peered up at him impatiently. "Can I go play outside?"

"Yes, Tracy, you can go play," Robert responded, a kind smile beaming at her. "But stay in the front yard, I don't want you going near that empty pool."

"Okay daddy I won't!" Tracy chirped, already turning on her tiny heels and skipping off down the stairs, her long black braids bouncing behind her.

"I'm worried, Robert," Alicia said as she watched her daughter run off. "There's not very many kids around here her age… Will she be okay on her own? She's such a social child…"

"Well, we could put her in daycare if you're concerned," Robert offered.

"That might just be a good idea," Alicia replied, "But let's let her acclimate first. We've been moving an awful lot, and the last thing we need is for her to get stressed…"

"Oh, you mean any more than she already has with Kindergarten starting soon?" Robert joked. "That's enough to drive anyone half-crazy with the stress…"

Alicia laughed, hugging Robert tightly.

"She's such a smart girl, Robert, and so creative. I'm so glad she got that from you…"

"And I'm glad," Robert said, smirking, "That she got the math gene from you. You know that always gave me trouble as a little boy…"

"Well that," Alicia replied playfully, resting her head on his shoulder, "Is why _you_ get to help her with spelling and reading, and _I_ do the finances."

"Hey! I'm not _that bad_!" Robert laughed, kissing her lightly. "I can add and subtract…"

"Yes, but not long division," Alicia said, kissing back deeply. "Or multiplication. Or algebra!"

"Mmhm. Someday that logical mind is going to fail you, love," Robert teased, letting go of her. "We should probably go outside, Tracy needs someone to watch her, and you know how she gets into absolutely _everything_…"

* * *

><p>Tracy sung merrily as she played with the toy horse she had gotten as a birthday gift. She liked horses. They had pretty manes, and pretty tails, and pretty ladies always got to ride them in the circus. She liked the circus too; it was so bright and pretty. When she grew up she was going to be really pretty and ride horses in the circus, and then everyone could watch her and clap because she would be really good…<p>

Alicia watched Tracy play with her toys, smiling. Horses. When she was little, she loved horses, and still did. She'd imagine vast herds of them galloping freely over the wilderness, over hills and valleys and small eddies, the endless sky above. Maybe it was her father she owed her love of the beasts to, he was a city man in presence but always was a country boy at heart. Maybe she, like many little girls, just wanted to peer into those liquid eyes, filled with trust and kindness, as she groomed her companion's mane to perfection. She always used to count those imaginary herds, she remembered; count them by twos and threes whenever she got bored or scared…

Robert's attention was not on his daughter, nor was he engaged in daydreaming. His line of sight did not focus on his home or happy family, but at a strange home next door to his, a home that didn't fit with the others, a home with shut door and shaded window, into which no person entered or left.

To say the home was merely odd would have been an incredible error, and an even more tremendous understatement. The house was downright surrealist, eye-catching, and louder than his uncle's tackiest tie. The paneling of it held a rich and regal purple unlike any Robert had ever seen, the trim an eye-shocking fluorescent orange. Its green shingles made its roof appear to be as moss, the only one in such a hue on the block. The walkway wound in a serpentine pattern, leading to an intricately carved, emerald green door that looked more like the entrance to a funhouse than a home, each of its eight squares holding a differently colored glass panel like some sort of absurdist checkerboard. The lawn, while well-manicured, shared equal space with an assortment of strangely-shaped topiaries, and the surrounding picket fence alternated colors between a shocking lemon yellow and a venomously bright green. It literally looked like a madhouse, or at least as though it had been caught in the crossfire of a vicious drive-by paintballing.

"Lord, can you imagine the guy who lives _there_?" Robert mused aloud.

Alicia peered up at the home in confusion, knocked from her daydreams by Robert's statement.

"Huh. Maybe he's an artist," Alicia replied. "All I know is that it looks hideous. Who in their right mind pairs neon orange with royal purple? To each his own, I guess…"

"Maybe he owns an at-home business and wants to stand out?" Robert suggested, shrugging. "The tenant's gotta be an interesting guy, though. Someone energetic and quirky. Some sort of character, I'll tell you that much… You know, it's almost oddly beautiful, the clashing colors and all…"

Alicia smiled in amusement.

"Well Robert, you always did see beauty in the strangest things," she pointed out. "It makes you interesting. Maybe you should go say hello, introduce us…"

Robert turned to look at the house again. Those colors, that dizzying array of purple and orange and green… it made him nauseous just to look at it. And besides that, it didn't look like anyone was home – from what he could see of the driveway, there wasn't even a car parked there, and besides, all the windows had their shades pulled down. The last thing Robert wanted to do was interrupt their new neighbor if he was sleeping, making a fool of himself, his family, and said neighbor in front of the entire neighborhood…

"Strange folks, them," came a soft, aging voice from the front yard of a home to the left of theirs.

Robert jumped at the intrusion into his thoughts and turned to find a friendly-looking elderly woman smiling at him from behind a rosebush, a tin watering can in one hand and a pair of garden shears in the other. The broad-brimmed straw hat she wore dwarfed her shrunken stature, giving her the appearance of a loving grandmother.

"Oh?" asked Alicia, peering up at her. "What makes you say that, Ma'am?"

"Well for one," the old woman replied, "I never seem to see anyone go in or out of that house, except this nice young blonde lady. Energetic little thing, too! I think she's married, but I don't speak to her that much beyond a simple _hello_, and I've never met her husband… nobody around here has. He's a very private man…"

"Well that's a little odd," Alicia murmured. "Must be a busy man if he never leaves the house, or maybe he just really likes his privacy… I'm Alicia, by the way, Alicia Clearwater. And this is my husband, Robert, and our daughter, Tracy. We just moved in today."

"Well, how nice to meet all of you," said the old woman with a laugh. "I'm Rose Penbrooke. Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"Thanks for the warm welcome," Robert replied with a polite smile. "And it's nice to meet you as well. We were actually about to have dinner, would you like to come in and join us? It's nothing fancy, just sandwiches…"

"Oh no, dear, I've actually already had supper," Rose answered, "But thank you for inviting me. You'll have to remind me one of these days, I make an absolutely wonderful peach cobbler. I'll bring some over someday. Now you go have your supper, I have to deadhead these bushes or they'll never grow back right… Do take care, dears."

"Alright, it was nice meeting you, and we will, thank you," Alicia said. "Come on, Tracy, time for dinner."

Rose watched with kindly grey eyes as the young family headed inside. My, but there _were_ a lot of young people coming to Gotham lately. It was almost as if something kept drawing them all. She couldn't imagine what, particularly with the city's reputation, but then again, that _was_ why she never went into the city herself…

* * *

><p>"<em>Yanno, Dick, the Spratsville Strangler don't leave clues. Not a fingerprint, not a drop of blood, nothin'. And there's only so much the police can do when we don't got clues…"<em>

"_I know," the private eye responded, looking up from a single faint shoeprint in the dust, "Just footprints and rope, knives and lint… but this, this looks like it came from his shoe… only the Strangler wears shoes of this size and sty-_

The loud, insistent knocking at the door was more than enough to startle Robert from the paragraph he'd been writing, especially in the middle of the detective character's discovery of the first clue. And try as he might, it was far too persistent to ignore.

Robert stared at the blank white space beneath the paragraph on his computer's screen, groaning inwardly. He hated having to leave in the middle of a paragraph, but Alicia was at work and he was the only one around to get the door. Sighing, Robert dragged himself to the door, his young daughter watching from the stairwell with wide, innocent eyes.

"Who's at the door, daddy?" Tracy asked, poking her head over the stairway railings on the top floor.

"I don't know, pumpkin," Robert murmured as he opened the front door, "And please be careful, Tracy, I don't want you to fall. Hello?"

The woman standing at the door had more the appearance of a girl than a woman, though she clearly appeared to be in her late twenties despite her smiling round face, bright baby blue eyes, and blonde pigtails. She had a nearly infectious aura about her that one could only describe as 'energetic', and the friendly sparkle in those youthful eyes brought a smile to Robert's face in spite of himself. Her clothing itself was plain – a white t-shirt and blue jeans. In her hands, she held a colorful purple wicker basket full of cookies, covered by a green cloth with a tessellated playing card pip design to keep the baked goods warm.

"Hiya!" she chirped brightly, her smile broadening. "I jes' herd you was new 'round heah, an' I thought ya might like a present! It was awl my idea!"

She held the basket out proudly, the same wide grin on her face.

"So welcome to da neighborhood! Mista… um…?"

"Clearwater, Robert Clearwater," he replied, amused by her cheerful exuberance. "And that's very nice of you, thank you." He extended a hand in greeting.

"Well, nice ta meetcha, Mista Cleahwatah!" she responded, hanging the basket on Robert's outstretched hand. "An' my otha half says hi too!"

"Thank you, this is very kind of you," Robert acknowledged, slightly surprised by the woman's refusal to shake his hand as well as the sudden gift. "And your name is…?"

"I'm Harleen, Harley foah short!" A pleasant, sweet smile. "Ya can call me 'Harls' foah short-short if ya wanna. Everyone else does."

"It's very nice to meet you, Harley," Robert replied. "And that's a very unique name, 'Harleen'. Would you like to come inside?"

"Yeah, my daddy liked real unique names," Harley replied. "An' shuah, I'd love ta come inside!"

She flounced brightly past Robert and into the house, settling comfortably on the loveseat in the front room.

"Nice place," she said, curling up demurely. "Kinda needs a lil' color, though."

"Well, we haven't really gotten around to decorating much," Robert answered as he set the basket of cookies aside for later and took one for himself. "We just moved in the other day. And speaking of color… you wouldn't happen to know anything about that house next door to ours, would you?"

"Shuah do, sugah!" She replied brightly. "That's ouah house. Mista J painted it! Nice job, huh?"

"Well, it is… very unique," Robert murmured politely, nibbling the cookie. "And Mr. Jay? Is 'Jay' your last name?"

Harley giggled an infectious, girlish giggle.

"Nah, s'just what I call him," she said. "But you can call him 'Jay' if ya want! He's usually kinda busy, I don' get ta see him sometimes, he works so late… Ya like the cookies?"

Robert swallowed the bites of cookie he'd been chewing. It was excellent, soft and chewy, with cinnamon sugar and tiny icing smiley faces on the top. He did have such a weakness for cinnamon sugar…

"Yes, they're very good," he replied, already reaching for another. He'd always had a terrible fondness for cookies – they were his drug. He could never resist Alicia's chocolate chip cookies, nor gingerbread, not even a simple sugar cookie. Unfortunately, they weren't as fond of him as he of them – it was as if the damned things had declared all-out war on his waistline.

"Baked 'em myself!" Harley declared. "Only thing I'm kinda good at makin', really… They're snickerdoodles. Mista J jes' loves 'em. He'll eat a whole batch'a them at once; always spoils his dinnah…"

"Daddy?" came a small bright voice. Robert turned towards the doorway to find Tracy standing expectantly at the base of the stairwell. "Who's that pretty lady?"

"A visitor, Tracy," he replied. "From next door. Say hello."

"Aww, s'that yer kid?" Harley cooed. "She's a cutie-pie! How old's she?"

"I'm five!" Tracy replied proudly as she held up an open hand.

And then her tiny eyes traveled to the basket, seeing the cookies.

"Cookies! Daddy can I have one? _Pleeeeeeeaaaaase?_"

Normally, Robert would have said no. Normally, he'd have Tracy wait until after lunch. But between Harley's Oh-Come-On-Let-Her-Have-Just-One look and Tracy's pleading eyes, he had no choice. Besides, what harm could one cookie do?

"Alright, Tracy, you can have one." A kind smile warmed his features as he reached into the basket and passed her a cookie. "Any more than that and you'll ruin your appetite."

Tracy beamed as if given the world's greatest treasure and skipped merrily off to her room.

"So, how long have you lived here, Harley?" Robert asked, pulling the conversation back on topic. "You sound… Well, you don't sound like a native Gothamite… New Jersey, maybe?"

"Lessee…" She trailed off in thought. "Well, I moved heah ta work maybe five yeahs back… an' close, I'm from Brooklyn! An' Mista J's from heah, lived heah his whole life as far as I know… We kinda met on the job, actually…"

"Oh?" Robert asked, finishing his first cookie and taking another. "What do both of you do for a living?"

"Well, I'm a psychologist," Harley replied, "An' Mista J? He jes' does odd jobs, yanno? Workin' late when he has ta… Speakin' of, what time is it?"

Robert glanced at the clock on the wall nearby.

"It's one-thirty."

"Oh shoot, I gotta leave!" Harley cried, springing out of the loveseat as if ejected. "I gots stuff ta do! Thanks fer havin' me over!"

And with that, she turned and ran out the front door, nearly knocking a bewildered Alicia over in the process.

Alicia turned in confusion to watch the girl leave.

"Robert," she asked, her tone incredulous as she peered into the front room. "… Who was that?"

"That…?" Robert smiled meekly, praying Alicia didn't think the inevitable. "That was just the girl from next door."

"Oh. And what did she want?"

"Just to bring over some cookies," Robert responded, pointing to the basket. "Speaking of, want one?"

"No," Alicia replied curtly as she carried her briefcase into the workroom. "But I _do_ want you to focus on your novel and not on the neighbor girl..."

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><p>The squeal of tires pulling into the adjacent driveway was loud enough to wake the dead. It was no surprise that Robert jolted upright at the noise, his heart pounding with the shock of the rude awakening, his mind still fuzzy from sleep. His weary eyes peered curiously, cautiously about the room, vision blurry without his glasses.<p>

_Maybe Tracy needs something,_ he thought tiredly, reaching towards the bedside end table to retrieve his glasses and put them on. The lenses slid over his eyes comfortably, perching birdlike on his nose's bridge as he looked into the shadows beyond his comforter and sheets.

Robert blinked in confusion. There was no Tracy standing afraid of monsters at his bedside, nor was any other source of the noise apparent. But there was the sound of a motor idling from next door, and a thinly dispersed beam of bluish-white light from a car's high beams shining through the slats of the window shade.

Robert glanced at Alicia, sound asleep next to him in bed. How she managed to do it was beyond him. That woman could sleep through a category nine hurricane! To tell the truth, Robert ever so slightly envied that power of hers. If only he could rest so well through noise and confusion.

The sound of a car door slamming shut emanated from the house next door, followed by two distinct voices chattering, one male and the other female.

His eyebrow shifted in interest. The masculine voice… Robert could have sworn it sounded like that of a salesperson, or magician – a showman's voice, luring in a crowd's intrigued eyes for the illusion… And yet it was so soft, so calm and easy-going, it could only be that of a socialite. It was almost entrancing in its strangeness, the odd way it rose and fell, the energy brimming underneath its surface…

Instantly, the realization struck him. It had to be the voice of his neighbor, the one that friendly young woman from next door had said was her 'other half'. She did say he worked late, after all.

He stole a quick glance at his alarm clock. It was one-thirty in the morning. Yes, this had to be him, the late-worker husband of the woman next door; the strange neighbor who never, ever left his house…

Robert couldn't sleep now. Now he was curious, feeling like the Private Eye from his crime novel. So many pieces the puzzle now had to solve, so many clues to intrigue him… Could he use this for his writings? And might this be his only chance to 'meet' his mysterious neighbor in some form or another?

_I have to know…_ he thought, curiosity outweighing his exhaustion as he carefully, quietly slid out of bed. _I have to know or it's going to bug me for the rest of the night…_

Robert crept softly over to the window, gingerly pushing aside the drapes so they didn't rustle against the window and awaken his wife. If she caught him snooping on his neighbors like some sort of spy with a grudge, what would she say?

From the second-floor master bedroom window, he could see the whole of his neighbors' front and back yard, including the incredible car idling in the driveway of the strange house. The car was absolutely gorgeous, a sleek-built vehicle of a sporty and expensive make (Lamborghini? Ferrari?) painted a rich and regal shade of violet that seemed to glow strangely beneath the moonlight. The inside liner – was that leather? – held the hue of freshly cut grass; the spiral-patterned, chrome rims of the wheels glowed with neon green backlighting that set the whole of the undercarriage aglow as well, spilling eerily across the concrete below. The engine purred in satisfaction, not unlike a panther purring in pride over its kill. This was a vehicle that commanded both respect and attention, and although Robert was by no means an automotive fanatic, the more he gazed upon its splendor, the more envious he became of it. Standing not far from the car's passenger side door was a feminine figure in a newsboy's hat, one that he identified as the neighbor girl that had visited earlier that day. She was speaking to someone inside of the car, someone who was laughing.

Suddenly, the driver's side door opened with a flourish, and out strode a tall, thin, and masculine figure. His long, dark-colored coat swished around his rangy legs restlessly as he walked; his broad-brimmed hat lent him the air of a gentleman from a much older time. Robert watched intently as the man approached the woman, exuding a strange and imposing energy so strong and intimidating that Robert swore he felt it penetrate through the second-story window to stand the hairs on the back of his neck bolt upright. There was something peculiarly menacing about this man, and yet Robert couldn't place what it was…

The man and woman spoke a moment – of what Robert could not decipher – and a set of keys was handed to the girl. The two then parted ways, the man into his house and the woman into the car in order to park the fantastic machine neatly in the home's garage, the garage door sliding shut mechanically behind it.

Robert stepped back in shame from the windows a moment and allowed the curtains to drop from his hands. Just _what _did he think he was _doing?_ These were his _neighbors_ for God's sake, they deserved just as much privacy as anyone else! And yet here he was, spying on them like a jealous conspirator, as if he thought they had something to hide and weren't merely just private people.

_But,_ Robert thought, eyes swiveling back towards the window, _What if they did have something to hide?_

His curiosity overwhelmed him, and he slunk back towards the window, gently shifting the drapes aside. Inside the house, a light flickered on in what Robert assumed was the bedroom, illuminating the opaque window shades like a projector screen. The man's shadow played against it eerily, a lithe and wiry form with short, wild hair. He was speaking with someone, presumably the neighbor girl, and laughing. Off first came a jacket or suit coat of some sort, followed by the start of a half-unbuttoned shirt…

The figure paused in mid-action, seemingly troubled. A motion towards an unseen person to be quiet.

And then his head snapped up towards the second-story window, his eyes burning through the cloth window shade like lanterns.

Robert ducked down in alarm, the curtains brushing against his short, ebony hair; his heart pounded drum-like in his chest and threatened to burst out.

_Oh God. Did he see me?_ Robert glanced up at the window as if it were a rogue gunman. _Did he really see me? Christ, now what will they think of me…?_

The guilt plagued his mind like a locust swarm. Maybe he had only imagined that the shadow had noticed him. Maybe it was all in his head, a guilt trip. But if that was so, why could Robert _still_ feel the man's eyes on him, judging him, scrutinizing him…?

Robert slunk guiltily back to bed, resting on his side and staring at the window. Through the shades, he saw the bedroom light next-door flicker off, and next to him, Alicia slept soundly. But all that night, all into the next morning, Robert slept fitfully, dreaming that eyes were upon him, his shame playing tricks with his mind…


	2. Chapter Two: A Pleasant Visit

_A/N: Wow everyone, thanks for the reviews and so soon too (even though I only have like three, LOL. XD)! I'm glad this fic hit it off so fast. Much love and snickerdoodles for my reviewers this far: Scram and CeeCeeG, thanks for the support! And no, those cookies AREN'T laced with Joker Toxin, why ever would they be? -innocent look-  
><em>

_I realize I didn't really explain my update schedule well in the first chapter, so here it is now. This fic will update on a Weekly basis. Expect a new chapter sometime over the weekend, since that's when I have time to upload. It'll usually be on Sunday, but I'm uploading early this week because I have so much Organic Chemistry review this weekend. Yay for you, you get a chapter early! -party blower noise- Enjoy and remember to R&R. :3_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: A Pleasant Visit<strong>

"_Three days, Dick. Three days and still not a damn lead in sight."_

_Officer Timm sighed in frustration, his irritated, firm and fatherly gaze fixed upon the case file on the desk before him._

"_Even that shoeprint belonged to an acquaintance," Detective Richard Holmes said grimly from between a cigarette in his gritted teeth. The smoke curled upwards like enigmas in the still air of the office. "Damn it, every time I get close to finding something on the Strangler, he just keeps slipping out of my grasp like an eel…"_

"_Well, I'm not playing these games anymore, Dick," Officer Timm snapped. "Either you catch me the Spratsville Strangler, or you can kiss your job good-_

"Robert?" Alicia asked as she poked her head into his workroom. "Do you have a minute?"

Robert looked up from his laptop, a well-battered, sturdy machine filled with his life's work and more. His hands hovered above the careworn keys on the keyboard; the computer's processor hummed gently as the cursor blinked impatiently on the blank white of the on-screen document.

"Need something, Alicia?" He asked, a soft smile playing about his lips. He hated interruption while he worked, it was true – but he always had time for his wife. Always.

"No, honey," she replied, leaning against the door. "That neighbor girl just decided to drop by again to talk with me. She said her husband – well, actually her live-in boyfriend, more accurately – had mentioned something about wanting to meet you. Something about 'guy time'?"

Robert was taken aback at that, and he turned away as if peering back at the computer screen in thought. That man, the strange man he saw last night with the dangerous aura, the man he'd (and he hated to call it such) spied on. What was he really like, and why would he want to meet with Robert now? Did he know? It all seemed somewhat suspicious…

_Robert, stop,_ he thought, immediately ashamed for thinking such things about his neighbor. _He's only a man; you're not even giving him a chance. Besides, you might as well meet him face to face instead of playing espionage like a coward…_

His eyes flicked towards the cursor on the screen, paused in mid-word. He'd really been neglecting his novel with all the excitement of moving. It was barely half finished and he'd wanted to get another third of it done before the month was out. But the curiosity towards his new neighbor had grown like an insidious vine ever since that single night of spying nearly three days ago, and it now lay curled about his mind, grasping desperately, begging him to find the answer. He simply had to know the truth, and with this invitation, he now had no good reason _not_ to find out, this time without feeling like an undercover CIA agent.

"… Alright," he said, relenting to his thirst for answers. "Let me just save this document and I'll be on my way over."

"Okay, Robert," Alicia said, a slight wry smirk about her face. "Just don't get too caught up in guy talk. I was hoping to get you home before dinnertime!"

"Alicia, you know I'm not a talker!" Robert laughed.

"Fortunately!"

And with that, Alicia slid away downstairs like silk, her infectious laughter ringing cheerfully from the stairwell.

Robert smiled to himself. She was so smooth, so beautiful, so perfect that some days, it honestly surprised him that he'd ever managed to keep her close to him at all.

* * *

><p>The richly green topiaries and lawn outside of the neighbor's house seemed positively dingy in comparison to any part of the home itself, especially the bright front door, which looked even stranger up close. It was an otherwise ordinary door, save for the details. The carvings that he'd assumed were surreal spiraling patterns were, upon closer inspection, actually abstract variations on smiling faces and curlicues, grinning back at him dementedly from the portal's lavish emerald paint job. The eight glass windows set into the doorway at slightly off-kilter angles, each panel a different texture and color – in the upper right, the glass held cherry red waves, one of the central ones was a bright blue frost, yet another was a clear and cheery yellow. The doorknob, a ridiculously complex thing, seemed to meld with the molding on the door, bearing the same spiraling pattern as the rest of the doorway. Save for the weathered, burnished gold coating, it could have been part of the door itself, as if it had melted into the door's wood. To the right of the door rested a common-looking doorbell, save for the fact that the button itself was painted fire engine red, like a doomsday button. The entire house exuded an odd, slightly off sense of the strange – and something of the slightly foreboding. Robert couldn't place why, but it made him approach the building cautiously as he passed by the strangely-cut topiaries that lined the walkway, unsure of the reason for his hesitation as he walked up the steps to the door.<p>

Robert pressed the doorbell inward, feeling it yield stiffly to the pressure of his finger. It buzzed sharply in reply, as if teasing Robert with a raspberry, and a long pause followed suit.

He glanced at the next house over. It was a normal home, painted a soft canary yellow, its bushes trimmed in neat orbs. Why did the house he stood at now so want to stand out from the crowd? He didn't understand… Still receiving no response, he turned back to the door and knocked gently. Another pause followed suit, and this time Robert swore it was longer than the last.

Robert's brow knit in confusion. Was the owner of this strange abode out? But that couldn't be it; he supposedly worked evenings. And if he _was_ out of the house, then why would he have invited Robert over? Had Alicia been given a date the homeowner would be in that she'd neglected to mention?

Robert turned to leave, frustrated at his lack of answers. Maybe another time he would meet his odd neighbor, but this time, he –

"… Come in," a smooth and cheerful masculine voice responded suddenly from somewhere behind the door, startling Robert. Footsteps came from inside, moving away from the door; a tall, slender shadow blocked the light from the door's glass panels, then slid away before Robert could discern anything about it. "The door's open. I should know; I've just unlocked it!"

A slight, strange chuckle followed the voice's words, and then it went silent.

Robert's surprise was apparent. The man must have been sleeping and only just now heard that someone was knocking. But if _his_ wife was over at _Robert's_ house, then who had told him to answer the door? Had Robert's knocking really been that loud?

Robert shrugged it off as a fluke and, taking the voice's advice, tried turning the spiral doorknob, the ornate orb resting coolly in the palm of his hand. The door swung inward gently, revealing a brightly painted entryway, and Robert gingerly stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

If the outside of the home was garish, then the inside of it was positively carnivalesque. Every wall of the abode glowed in a different hue of neon, the trim along the baseboard in eye-hurting, clashing color combinations – here was a green wall with pink trim; there, orange with purple, and yet another had yellow and bright neon blue. Next to a small closet stood a precarious-looking coat rack, its arms splayed in wild directions and its blackened iron stand leaning oddly. At the base of the rack rested a lone pair of gentleman's loafers, complete with bright white leather spats and, oddly enough, a slightly turned-up, pointed toe. A long violet overcoat hung from the coat rack, and nearby hung a matching broad-brimmed fedora with teal-blue trim.

Robert raised a curious eyebrow. If there was any doubt that this home belonged to a man with very strange tastes, then the sight before him dispelled it instantly. But all the same, something about this place felt… _wrong_, as if he'd tread into a place of terrible danger, a place that he should never have dared enter…

_What's wrong with me?_ Robert thought, his brow crinkling quizzically. _I've barely lived in Gotham a week now, and I'm already judging people based on their taste in décor? For Christ's sake, Robert, it's not as if he's a murderer, he's just a very strange, secretive man, that's all. So then why do I feel like I should know him – and why do I feel like I should be very, very afraid?_

"Take off your shoes if you like," the odd voice called from down an adjacent hallway, jolting Robert from his thoughts. "There's no need to be _formal_ about any of this!"

"Are you sure?" Robert asked back, peering nervously down the lengthy hallway from behind his glasses. "I'm… I'm usually not that comfortable around strangers, that's all…"

"Positive!" the voice cried cheerfully. "I'm in the den, just down this way and to the left. Join me whenever you're ready."

"Alright," was Robert's polite, if nervous, response. The man's phrase sounded almost like a challenge, almost as if it dared Robert to join him. Almost like a sneer.

_Robert, stop it!_ He told himself, shrugging off his tennis shoes and setting them next to the owner's loafers. _You're being stupid, judging him like that. You don't have any idea if that's his tone of voice or just how he happens to speak. For Christ's sake, he's not your enemy, he's your neighbor!_

The floor beneath his sock-clad feet shifted from wood paneling to a thick purple carpeting, but the comfort his feet now felt did little to dispel the unease he felt as he wandered slowly down the hallway. It seemed that the further into the house he went the more abstract the décor became, and the more frighteningly unfamiliar the whole place felt. Oddly shaped picture frames lined the walls, teetering at bizarre angles, the eerie, grinning portraits of the people in them seeming to follow his motions with their dead, staring eyes… What were they, family photographs? Pictures of carnival flyers and posters advertising circus acts from long ago? These and more he saw as he continued down the hallway, feeling ever more unsure of his footsteps as he did so.

Robert stopped suddenly to look at a portrait, now sure that it was watching him. The woman therein stared sadly forward, almost as if suffering some sort of emotional anguish that Robert would never know. She was strikingly beautiful, a young brunette with golden-brown eyes and soft, gentle features – or at least she would have been if not for the horrific, clownish grin that distorted her features, giving her eyes the haunted look of a madwoman…

Robert turned away in horror, his skin crawling. Why on earth would _anyone_ want such awful photographs and strange flyers in their home? And was that mirror at the end of the hallway… was that a _funhouse mirror_? Who was this man, a collector of carnival memorabilia?

Robert's glance returned to the portraits of clowns along the wall, all staring forward, all giving the same eerie, demented grin… Strange, he was so sure that there was a photograph of a woman there before, staring with haunted golden-brown eyes…

The hair on the back of his neck stiffened like so many quills, and Robert quickly walked the rest of the way to the den, feeling the blank gaze of innumerable eyes following him. It was astonishing to him how in the span of a single walk down an unassuming hallway, the feel of the whole house had turned from whimsically abstract to bizarrely ominous. Every neuron screamed at him to turn back, begging frantically for him to leave this place and never return. But still more of his mind wanted to know. He couldn't leave now, not yet, not when he was so close to knowing who the home's true owner was – and he wasn't about to let some creepy portraits deter him so easily.

The den opened before him like a lion's maw, revealing a room that looked more like a funhouse turned workspace than a place to relax. Even here, there was no respite from the neon walls and eerie portraits, though there were a great deal fewer than the hallway. And there needed to be fewer, for on every wall there hung newspaper articles and clippings, some framed and others simply tacked on. "_Commissioner's Daughter Shot, Paralyzed_", read one. "_Killer Leaves Victims Grinning In Death_", read another. Every single one seemed to be about murder or some other form of debauchery, and the titles of them alone, never mind the pictures, were more than enough to make Robert's stomach churn. Shelves, both in stand-alone and wall-mounted units, displayed devious and wicked weapons of all stripes, from two-barreled handguns to positively evil looking knives, flecks of something red staining the edges like paint. A single, whole wall of the room was devoted to various disturbing knick-knacks, from a cracked human skull (it surely wasn't _real_, was it?) to what most disturbingly seemed to be a decaying bat carcass nailed to a dartboard by its tiny wing bones, the bloodstains around its desiccated body telling the gruesome tale of the poor creature's demise. A comically large purple and green mallet leaned against a nearby wall; an old crowbar, its prying ends flecked with something rusty red, rested just above a stone fireplace shaped into a grinning mouth, the barred iron grate serving as its crooked teeth. The mahogany desk before it had a strange runner, white with playing card pips along the edge, and on top of that rested a deck of well-worn playing cards, a notepad, a purple ink pen and matching ink well, and a paperweight shaped like a human skull painted to look clownish. And just in front of the mahogany desk sat two identical, elegant chairs furnished in purple leather, along with a lavish, swiveling high-backed chair behind the desk with the same shade of leather, its back to Robert and its current occupant unknown.

"Ah, there you are," the voice murmured from the chair behind the desk, its tone belying a sense of mock-worry. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gone home. Pull up a chair; relax! I can feel the tension in your muscles all the way over here!"

He chuckled softly, a vaguely ominous sound probably intended to sound friendly. The only problem was, it didn't sound friendly so much as devious, and it wasn't helping to calm Robert's jangled nerves one bit. All it made him want to do, in fact, was run back home and hide in the corner, far away from the hidden homeowner. There was something horribly, fundamentally _wrong_ about this man; all Robert's instincts screamed this at him like so many alarm bells. But the last thing Robert wanted to do was offend a man who collected weapons and newspaper clippings about murder, especially in his own home, and so, Robert reluctantly started towards the left-most of the two chairs.

"No, _not_ that one," his host noted in a sudden, grim tone.

Robert peered at the chair in confusion, concerned it was broken.

"Why not?" Robert asked. "I don't see anything wrong with it…"

"Trust me," the man replied severely, "You _don't_ want to sit in _that_ chair…"

Robert's curiosity cried for an answer, but he resigned himself to none and settled into the right-most chair.

"Comfortable?" his host asked, the chair creaking as he leaned back to relax.

"Very," Robert replied somewhat truthfully. The chair _was_ very comfortable, almost overstuffed, but it was no consolation to the disturbing décor around him, and as his eyes examined the awful array of knives and guns (for he refused to look at the other sickening items) every synapse screamed his unvoiced fear for him. "Very… um… Interesting collection of weapons you have there…"

"You like them?" The man's voice had the hint of a smile in its tone, and more than a little pride at his collection. "That knife there, third from the top on the right, the thick, large-toothed one… _that_ is my favorite. It cuts incredibly well, made of a titanium alloy that rarely needs sharpening, has an excellent weight to it. It fits my personality best, I think. Had it made custom. The guns I only started very recently, say about five months ago?"

"Fascinating," Robert said politely, more than a little intimidated by the knife in question, which looked more like a saw blade with a knife's handle than anything else. "The décor is very… interesting as well…"

"I thought you might say that!" the man responded. "It's UV-fluorescent, all done by hand. A tasteful man like yourself surely knows how difficult it is to get things looking just right, especially by hand… why, it was difficult enough _finding_ neon paint to begin with, and even then I still had to find just the right shade of each color, particularly the orange and purple. Have you any idea how few companies even _make_ that shade of bright, rich violet? Just two. That's how many make it. And even then I had to hand-mix the paint to get it _just _right…"

"I'm sure it must have been difficult," Robert replied, shifting in his chair uncomfortably, eyes still fixated on the terrifying-looking blade on the wall. The _damage_ that knife could cause; the _fear _it could strike into a person's heart just seconds before the blade itself did… Even when simply displayed, it was an intimidating weapon.

"As for the rest, well… I'm somewhat of a newshound, and very interested in true crime stories," the man said, indicating the newspaper clippings. "And as for the knick-knacks, I am one of those people interested in the bizarre and macabre, and I do have a rather dark sense of humor. It's a hobby of mine, you might say."

_I can't imagine why,_ Robert thought, peering in sick fascination at what seemed to be a grinning, decapitated baby doll with a knife through its chest resting upon an orange-colored shelf. _I don't see what's so funny about it…_

"And one thing you'll find," the man continued, "Is that interesting people tend to collect interesting things. At the very least, _you_ seem to be interested in my collections. Why, you're _so_ jealous that you've been staying up nights _just_ to catch glimpses of them…"

Robert's heart suddenly dropped into his stomach, and his face paled. He… he _knew?_ How? Had he seen Robert spying that night three days back, had he seen the curtains rustle and felt Robert's eyes on him, then come to some conclusion from there?

"I… I beg your pardon?" Robert lied. "I don't have a _clue_ what you mean…"

"Oh, I'm sure you _do_, Robert," the man wryly responded. "In fact, I _know_ you do…"

Cold sweat drenched Robert's forehead. Not only did this man _already_ know who he was, no thanks to his girlfriend, he now had good reason to call the police and get him arrested for invasion of privacy. He surely had evidence. They'd surely believe his story…

The man sighed heavily, jarring Robert from escalating panic.

"You know, Robert," the man murmured, a faint hint of sadness in his voice, "I'm no stranger to suspicious neighbors and odd looks. When you're as… _eccentric_ as I am, it's to be expected. People are _bound_ to stare, or even to be slightly afraid… I don't blame you for being curious."

Robert felt relief and astonishment wash over him at the man's response. He… he was actually_ forgiving_ Robert for spying on him? Was he actually going to let Robert get away Scott free?

"You mean," Robert asked incredulously, "You mean you _aren't_ going to call the cops on me?"

An odd, eerie, high cackle of a laugh, obscene in its loudness, arose from behind the desk, and Robert felt a dark chill ripple down his spine at the sound of it. It was as chilling as it was entrancing, as madcap as it was musical. It seemed to continue for hours though it had been only a few seconds since the man had started. And it positively made Robert's blood run cold in his veins.

"Oh, _Heavens, no!_" the man cried in half-laughing amusement. "No, no, Robert… I'm not going to call the cops on you; I'm not _that_ insane!"

His laughter died down slowly, a gradual decrescendo, and yet Robert got the distinct impression his host was laughing at something else besides Robert's apparently misplaced unease, something darker. Something far more devious…

"Honestly, Robert, you _slay me!_" the man added, the chair creaking as he reclined in it. "And speaking of _me_, I don't believe I've given you a formal introduction, have I?"

The chair began to swivel towards Robert.

"I do apologize, you know, I realize it's rude not to," he continued. "But I've gotten so used to _needing_ no introduction that I nearly forgot to give one…"

The breath escaped from Robert's chest as if stricken from him when the chair finally faced him, his eyes doing every bit they could to decry the image before them as a lie. But there was no mistaking the man's chalk-white face, his wild viridian hair, those dark, crazed green eyes…

"Why, Robert, what's the matter?" the Joker asked, his face a mask of amusement. "You look as though you've seen a ghost!"


	3. Chapter Three: The Madman Next Door

_A/N: Hooray, new chapter! :D Thanks again to the continued support of my reviewers CeeCeeG, Scram, and newcomer Keywee. I'd appreciate if you guys would spread the word, too - it's awful hard to get an audience when people aren't looking... :c As always read and review plz. Comments contribute to a strong, healthy ego. XD_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: The Madman Next Door<strong>

The Joker.

Robert's palpable horror flooded his mind like an uneasy tide. He was actually talking to _the_ Joker, _the_ most dangerous lunatic alive. And he was sitting no more than _two feet away from him._

Two feet away from an unpredictable, vicious, murderous madman. And what was worse, said madman knew that Robert had been spying on him – and he _wasn't_ happy about it.

Robert couldn't breathe for the panic, eyelids fluttering shut in denial. This wasn't real. This was just a nightmare. This kind of thing didn't _happen_ to people like him. Mass-murdering psychopaths didn't _live_ in the suburbs of Gotham City, or any city for that matter. Crime was a part of the city proper, not civilian homes!

A bony, pallid hand grasped Robert's shoulder harshly, a deadlock grip that truly gave new meaning to the term, and Robert eyes flew open in fear. The Joker's grinning face stared at him implacably, mocking his terror.

Robert jumped back in sickly shock. The madman's ironclad grasp tightened, pulling him closer; his vile green nails digging perversely into the shirt's fabric…

"Are you quite sure you're alright, Robert?" the clown asked, looking a bit puzzled and slightly amused. "You're almost paler than I am!"

Robert panicked.

"Oh _God_," Robert pleaded, hands trembling and voice wavering. "Dear Lord, _please_ don't kill me, I didn't know this was your house, I _swear_ I didn't know! I won't tell a _soul_ you're here, just please… p-please… I-I have a _family…_"

The Joker looked unimpressed.

"Relax, Bobby-boy." The clown smiled broadly, and his deceptively strong grasp softened as it firmly squeezed Robert's shoulder. "I wasn't _planning _on killing you! Why, it hadn't even crossed my mind until you brought it up! Not at all!"

His spidery hand all at once released its terrifying stranglehold on Robert's shoulder, and Robert sunk back into the plush chair, praying he'd disappear within its leather cushions.

"I'm, well… I suppose you could say I'm _off the job_ right now," he said, hands folding together to rest on the desktop. "And besides, killing you right _now_ just wouldn't be all that funny. I'm not in the mood for it, you might say." A slightly bitter frown.

Robert was flabbergasted, his heart pounding from dread and relief. He… the Joker _wasn't_ going to slaughter him? He'd been so sure it was all over, so sure he would die, and now this lunatic was _actually_ going to let him live?

"You're…" Incredulity crept into Robert's tone. "You're not _mad_ that I –"

"Of course I'm not mad!" The Joker interrupted, sounding almost stunned that Robert had ever thought such a thing. "Well, not _that _kind of 'mad', anyway. How could I be anything _but_ in a good mood looking like I do? Besides, I _did_ say I wanted to have a nice chat with my next-door neighbor. That _is_ what we're doing, isn't it?"

The harlequin's tone might have been reassuring, but his eyes blazed with an insanity so deep they could have dragged Robert into that same chaos along with them. And no matter how kindly he sounded, Robert still couldn't shake the sheer dread that engulfed him. He still felt like a mouse caught in the razor claws of a particularly feral, hungry cat, in the midst of the worst possible danger…

_How apt,_ thought Robert as he sat, paralyzed by the Joker's dark gaze. _That hellish grin certainly matches the Cheshire Cat's…_

And so Robert sat still, deathly, perfectly still, doing nothing else but quietly trembling. What else could he do? Run? Somehow he knew running now would be a horribly bad idea. If he ran now, if he ran away screaming, it would only entice the predator to begin the hunt, and then he would _never_ make it out of here alive.

The Joker kicked his sock-clad feet onto the desk, his absurdly long legs stretched out in full. Robert was surprised to see that this absurdist demon's socks were no different from any pair of white socks – he could've sworn that the Joker, judging by the rest of his attire, would have worn something in a far stranger pattern than just plain white.

"So you're new here, right?" the fool asked. That impossibly wide smile widened further yet. "Welcome to the neighborhood. You know, you're the first person I've had over in a very long time. Just about the _only_ person ever, I'd say, but let's not split hairs… Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink, a snack, strychnine…?"

"N-no thanks, I'm… I'm n-not all that hungry," murmured Robert, nervously contemplating his navel. If he offended his bizarre host now, he'd surely die. All it would take was one wrong move, one wrong word, a single offense…

He looked up for only a brief second, just enough to see the vague look of almost-disappointment on the Joker's face.

"No? Well, that's just too bad," The Joker tutted, leaning on his elbows. "Harley just made a fresh batch of snickerdoodles, you know. They're really quite delicious, and just about the only thing that silly girl _can_ cook without burning…"

At that moment, both men heard the front door squeal open, a patter of running feet following suit, quickly approaching the main room. Robert craned his neck to see a breathless Harley leaning against the doorframe.

"H-hiyas… Mistah J," she huffed between breaths. "I got heah… as fast as… I could... Kinda lost track'a… da time…"

"Well, speak of the Devil," the Joker responded dispassionately, barely glancing at her. "Go fetch your cookies; they're going to burn. And bring something to drink, my guest's still here."

"Ooh, Mistah Cleahwatah's heah still?" Her voice rose excitedly. "Don't worry; I'll bring out lots'a cookies faw him. Yanno, yer wife's a real sweet lady…"

"Harley."  
>"She an' I shared some recipes. I was gonna try 'em out sometime, an' –"<br>"_Harley!_"

A pause. Harley stood quietly staring at the Joker, an innocent look on her face. The Joker glared back intensely at her.

"… Sorry, Mistah J," she murmured meekly, slinking off towards the kitchen.

Robert said nothing, though his heart went out to the girl. How could she, after all, hope to please a man who killed for fun? He couldn't even begin to imagine just what the woman saw in the monster before him. Perhaps she was another pawn in his schemes and didn't realize it… or perhaps, thought Robert with a shudder, she _did._

"So," the Joker replied, returning that awful, searing gaze to Robert, "Married, eh? You _did_ say you had a family. With kids or without?"

"O-one child," Robert croaked nervously, his voice barely audible.

The Joker stared at him blandly, his smile replaced by a blank look.

"Speak _up_, Robert!" he insisted, an annoyed glint in his venomously green eyes. "For God's sake man, _mice_ are louder than you!"

"I s-said I have one child!" Robert cried, forcing himself to speak up in spite of himself.

"One child, you say?" The Joker's head tilted in interest. "A daughter, a son…?"

"D-daughter…" Robert stammered fearfully. "Y-young one…"

Robert knew in his heart he shouldn't have been saying a thing to the Joker, let alone giving details about his family, but he couldn't help himself – the clown was strangely, remarkably persuasive even in plain conversation, to the point that Robert couldn't disobey him even if he tried. Maybe his commanding, overwhelming presence was what tied Robert's tongue, or perhaps it was his aura of reeling madness clashing with old fashioned, almost sophisticated mannerisms. Maybe it was pure fear holding Robert's willpower hostage, and nothing more. Or maybe it was the madman's deceptively smooth, calm, confident voice that lulled one into a state of disarms and contrasted so starkly to his awful, raucous laughter. Whatever it was, it held Robert spellbound so much that he almost _wanted_ to stay, if only to solve this impossible conundrum of a man. So much that he scarcely noticed Harley flounce back into the den, a still-warm tray of cookies in one hand and a crystal pitcher of something bright red in the other.

"Heah ya go, boys," she chirped, setting the items on the desk. "I even brought da _nice_ glasses out, too!"

"Excellent," the Joker responded, watching as she began to pour the liquid into two wine glasses. "And don't get any of that on the tabletop, you know how hard it is to get stains out of the runner…"

"I won't, promise… theah." She carefully set a wine glass next to each man. "Have fun, fellas. Jes' hollah if yas need anything!"

And with that, she flitted out of the room, once again leaving Robert alone with the grinning lunatic. Neither man spoke for a very long time after that, the silence as heavy as a lead weight. Robert kept his head down the whole time, staring suspiciously into the red liquid in his glass. It wasn't wine; that much he could tell – the shade of red wasn't right for a red wine, and there was no sharp smell of alcohol clinging to the air around the glass. Whatever it was, Robert didn't trust it. It looked almost like someone had added something else to water it down. Worse still, the Joker's eyes never left his guest for a second, not even as he sipped quietly at his own drink, not even though Robert dared not to look up at him. And the silence remained, oppressively heavy, until the Joker unceremoniously broke it.

"… You love your little family, don't you, Robert?" the Joker asked, swirling the reddish liquid around and around his wine glass.

"… Yes," Robert replied timidly, his hands beginning to shake again as he clenched the arms of his chair. He didn't like where this conversation was going. Not one bit. A soft chuckle from his host, and Robert felt the lead in his stomach drop into his intestines.

"Of _course_ you do…" the Joker replied, taking another sip of the liquid in his glass. "Mmm, I _do_ love fruit punch, you know. Speaking of which, you haven't even _touched_ yours… Cripes, man, it's not _poisoned!_"

And then the Joker did something Robert instantly wished he hadn't.

He cackled.

The terrible ordeal was melodious and cacophonic all at once, hysterical and maddening, a noise that grated on Robert's nerves like steel wool, fraying them with terror. It penetrated his ears drill-like, roughly ringing inside his auditory canals and drowning every other noise out. And by the time it reached his brain, he already felt as though he himself were falling down the spiral, falling into lunacy from which there was no escape, imprisoned by fear. Robert could do nothing else but quake at that sound, and pray for it to stop.

What felt like hours later, the storm finally began to die down.

"But in all seriousness," the Joker sighed, nibbling at a cookie in a strangely demure fashion, "It's perfectly safe. It's just plain generic fruit punch from a bottle, that's all. And besides that, it's _terribly_ rude to poison your houseguests on the first meeting. Oh, but the second one's perfectly fine. Remember that, won't you?"

Robert barely caught his words he was so jarred by the Joker's sudden outburst. Why on earth would anyone consider poisoning someone at _any_ time to be a good idea? But then he remembered who was speaking to, instantly answering his own question.

He remained silent as the Joker finished his cookie and reached for another.

"Mmm-_mmm!_ You know, I do love snickerdoodles. Not sure why." The Joker's mouth was full of the baked goods by this point. "They are ever so delicious, yes. But it's the _name_, really. Go on; say it. 'Snickerdoodle'. It's about the most _hysterical_ name for a cookie there is!"

He swallowed the cookies, and still Robert said nothing.

"But I digress," the Joker continued, brushing cookie crumbs from his orange undershirt. "I just bet you're still wondering why I _really_ invited you over, hmm?"

Robert nodded meekly in reply, staring forlornly into his glass of punch. Everything about his surroundings, from the neon walls to the horrible items that the Joker used for 'décor', and especially the clown himself, made him feel small, smaller than the tiniest runt of a litter of mice. And the sheer loudness of the place, combined with his constant fear, drained him emotionally and mentally. If he hadn't known any better, Robert would have thought that the Joker was doing this to him on purpose to terrorize him. He certainly didn't put it past him _not_ to…

"You see, Bobby-boy, it's like this." The Joker set his glass onto the desk and rested his bony elbows on the desk, skeletal hands folded beneath his chin in an oddly delicate gesture. "I very well _could_ kill you. Oh, I certainly could. I _could_ slaughter your little family in an instant if I so chose. And I certainly have more than enough reason to, between your little adventure in espionage and your _incredibly irritating_ habit of _not giving me eye contact._"

The underlying rage in the Joker's tone was thick enough to cut with a knife; the sudden shift in tone belied a sense of terrible danger. And it was more than enough to make Robert involuntarily snap his head up to look at the clown, hands trembling in fear of what the Joker would do if he didn't…

"… Much better," the Joker noted, anger abating from his voice. "As I was saying, I _could_ kill you if I wanted to. I just don't _feel like it_ yet. Not right now, anyway. Oh, but what if I _do_ feel like it tomorrow, or the next day, or the _next?_"

Robert began to shake. But before he could respond, there came a gruff voice from the hallway behind him.

"Boss?"

The Joker's head jolted up in irritation.

"Oh, for the love of… What could _you_ possibly want that's _so_ _important_?" He snapped. "Can't you see that I'm _busy?_"

A hard-looking man stepped carefully into the room, a man who looked more at home in a jail cell than in a suburban home, even as surreal a one as this. He wore torn jeans and a black wife-beater, and he must have stood close to six feet (though the Joker was taller still). His arms were as big around as branches, and on one was tattooed an evil-looking skull with a snake's eyes and tongue. He was muscle on top of muscle, his arms and face scarred from numerous scuffles, and his entire face looked hardened and cruel. And yet in his steely eyes was the most pitiful look of fear Robert had ever seen, and he spoke softly, as if trying not to enrage a sleeping tiger.

"It's just…" the man seemed at a loss for words, his hands fidgeted. His eyes never left the Joker's for a second, as if he didn't dare to. "You… uh, you left yer Bunsen burner on in yer lab again, a-an'…"

The Joker's withering, acidic gaze pierced the man, who had gone surprisingly, suddenly silent. Robert could only marvel at how such a bear of a man, one who could easily crush a frail-looking, lanky creature like the Joker to death in seconds, was so utterly _cowed_ by him. What had the Joker done to make this man obey him to the point of fear? Robert instantly pitied the man, even though he would otherwise have feared him.

"It's just…" the man swallowed nervously. "… Didn' want the house burnin' down, that's all…"

"… Have a seat, Ricky," the Joker replied coolly. The man instantly became perturbed.

"A-am I in trouble, boss?" He asked quickly, clearly fearing the worst.

"No," the Joker responded, gritting his teeth, "But you _will be_ if you don't sit down _right. Now._"

The man started at that shift in tone and quickly sat down in the seat next to Robert, hands shaking ever so slightly.

A soft click emanated from a photo near the fireplace, and the portrait's grinning mouth opened, sending a blur of thin, metallic _somethings_ whizzing towards the unfortunate man at a dizzying speed. The spray of blood upon impact with his head was definite. The poor victim hadn't even had the time to scream.

The Joker chuckled softly, and a morbid fascination overtook Robert as he peered uneasily at the attack's aftermath. Hundreds of sharpened metal playing cards, every last one of them jokers, had buried themselves no less than three inches into the man's torso and head, the cards' razor edges slick and red with blood.

"And that, Robert," the Joker said, half-laughing, "Is why I told you not to sit in that chair!"

The ensuing cackle was deafening; the iron salt odor of blood hung in the air like a fine mist.

Robert wanted to vomit.

"And _that_, Robert," the Joker added, his words deathly serious now, "Is also _just how quickly_ I can bring you to ruin and _just how quickly_ I can end your silly little life. Why, what if that had been _you_, or your _wife?_ Or, God forbid, your little girl…?"

Robert exploded, fear and rage sizzling like water on hot metal.

"Don't you _dare touch them_, you monster!" he hissed angrily, standing up and leaning forward meanly. "I swear to _God_, if you put your hands on _either_ of them, I'll… I'll –"

"Or you'll _what_, Robert?" The Joker challenged, leaning forward imposingly. His eyes danced with sick amusement, his grin bore all the danger of a shark's. "_Kill me?_ Oh _please_, don't make me laugh. You're about as murderous as a wet dishrag! And if I can destroy your _family_ in the blink of an eye, just _imagine_ what I could do to _you_…"

His awful grin widened horribly.

"You know, I don't always _kill people_, Robert. That's actually a misnomer and a terrible _lie_. No, sometimes I hold them _hostage_… and I have methods, Robert, wonderful, terribly _fun_ methods to my madness… You do not want _me_ for an enemy…"

Robert shrunk back under the psychopath's terrifying gaze, feeling his stomach churn in sickly terror. And despite his best attempts to stop it, his mind ran wild with horrible thoughts. His family, dead at this monster's hands. Tracy, his _little girl,_ being _tortured_ to death. Himself or worse yet, _Alicia_, all alone and at _his_ mercy… It was more than enough to drown his rage in terror, and more than enough to set him quivering in his chair, once more feeling like the mouse caught in the Cheshire Cat's claws…

"So!" the Joker crowed, straightening up and resting both of his palms on the desk. "That's why I'm going to strike a little _deal_ with you… Sort of a 'you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours' thing… Why, we don't have to be _enemies_, Robert; I don't want that and neither do you…"

He started walking around the desk, towards Robert's chair, his stride slow and purposeful.

"Thing is, Robert… I quite _like_ living here, and I _really don't_ feel like getting caught right now."

He rested his bony, ashen hand just inches from Robert's head, and Robert flinched as the Joker leaned in closely to him, inches from his ear.

"So," the Joker continued, his toxically green eyes burning into Robert's own blue orbs, "Here's the deal: If you don't tell a _soul_, not your wife, not the police, not _anyone_, that I'm here… then I won't harm a single hair on the head of any member of the Clearwater family. In fact, I'll even do you one better – since you just know _so_ much about me now, I'll keep anyone else that _will_ try to harm you well away from you and your family. It'll be our little secret."

He leaned over further still to whisper to Robert, his breath a hot stream of words against Robert's skin. Robert trembled, trying very hard not to panic – and failing.

"But," the Joker whispered, a dangerous edge creeping into his words, "If you breathe _one word_ about me to _anyone_, just _one word_, I will _slaughter you and_ _every last member of your family_… Oh, but don't worry, you'll at least get to go last so you can _watch._"

Robert could feel the insanity radiating off of his mockery of a host, a pervasive, almost radioactive field so strong that it overwhelmed all else. And try as he might to escape it, to close his eyes and hide inside his head, he could still sense that hideous smile and those piercing, venomous eyes drilling into his core, mocking his every feeble attempt at escape. It was as if he were a little boy again, sucked into a particularly surrealist nightmare by the boogeyman beneath his bed. Only this time, he _knew_ he couldn't simply wake up to arrive safe and sound in his bedroom. This was horrifically real, shockingly real. And there was no escaping it.

Robert heard the Joker circle behind him, his footsteps ever so calm and patient. Waiting. He couldn't see the madman now, and that terrified him. Behind his back, the Joker could easily pull a gun on him, knife him in the back, or do any number of things so, _so_ much worse to him, things Robert dared not contemplate. The thought of it escaped as a terrified whimper.

There was the briefest pause in the Joker's footsteps, only a single tense, horrible second. But Robert's fear stretched it into eternity like nightmarish taffy, and all time seemed to stop at that one awful point, suspended like a broken watch. And somehow, Robert _knew_ that the Joker was enjoying every second of his victim's frenzied wait, savoring it like wine.

_Oh God, he's going to kill me._ Robert's heart felt as though it were going to explode. _I'm going to die. He's going to kill me I'm going to die here he's going to kill me…_

The footsteps started up again, bringing the lunatic full-circle and in front of him once more. Robert breathed again, unaware he'd ever stopped.

"So tell me, Bobby," the Joker said, his voice silken-smooth and disturbingly pleasant sounding now. "Do we have an agreement, or must I terminate the contract… prematurely?"

And he extended a spidery, dexterous hand to Robert, his eyes daring his victim to say no.

And Robert couldn't. He couldn't say no. This was literally a life or death decision. If he said no, then his whole family would die. But if he said yes…

"Not much of a choice," Robert murmured to himself glumly.

"No?" The Joker cocked an emerald eyebrow curiously. "You're one of the lucky ones, Robert. Most fool enough to cross _me_ never _get_ a choice."

_He has a point,_ Robert admitted, still thinking the choice over. _I could die here and now if I do the wrong thing. I'm still not out of the woods. And really, I don't have a choice at all… But that doesn't mean I have to trust him._

"… How do I know you won't go back on your end of the deal?" Robert asked incredulously, trying his damndest to stay calm.

"Oh, you don't," the Joker answered, shrugging. "That's part of the _fun_, you see. But know this, Robert: the Clearwaters are _far_ more useful to me _alive_ than dead, and _so_ much more fun, too! Now, do we have a deal or not?"

Robert peered at the clown's hand in suspicion. It was subtle, very subtle – but he could have sworn there was something cupped in the Joker's palm, something small and likely very dangerous…

His eyes locked with the madman's.

"… I'll accept," Robert said, choosing his words carefully, "But I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, and I'm _not_ shaking your hand. Who the hell knows what you'd try if I did? I'm not going chance it."

For the slightest of moments, the Joker almost looked… _hurt._

"Why, I'm downright _offended_ you'd assume I'd stoop so low!" the clown objected. "I already told you before that it's _terrible_ manners to murder your houseguests, _especially_ on the first m- … Oh."

The Joker looked as though he'd suddenly realized he'd forgotten the keys to his car, and stared down at his outstretched palm. A small joy-buzzer style device with a thin hypodermic needle attached rested there, attached to his hand with clear straps. The entire device was no larger than a quarter.

"Whoops! I forgot I had that on!" the Joker responded in genuine surprise as he slid the device off and stuck it into a coat pocket. "Nearly stuck you by accident! Force of habit, and all that… Can you imagine how _awkward_ it would have been if I'd…?"

He flashed a sheepish, apologetic half-smile, but Robert wasn't buying it – and he certainly wasn't amused. Yes, in fact, he _could_ imagine what could have happened to him if the Joker hadn't noticed, and none of the outcomes were pretty.

"… Fine," Robert reluctantly said, desperately wanting to get this whole mess over with. "We have a deal…"

His hand met the clown's and grasped it, only for the Joker to respond with a far too strong grip of his own.

"Excellent!" the Joker replied brightly, shaking Robert's hand enthusiastically. "Now, I expect your wife is becoming worried; you really _should_ be going."

"Yes I should," Robert hastily responded, glancing nervously at the hallway beyond the den.

"All curtains must close eventually," the clown agreed, releasing his iron grasp. "Do come visit again, you're welcome any time…"

"Sure, yeah, anytime," Robert echoed blankly, already edging towards the hallway. "I'll… I'll think about it."

"Oh, you think about it… Oh, and Robert?"  
>"… Yes?"<br>"Think fast!"

Robert scarcely had enough time to jump into the hallway before a razor-sharp metal playing card hit the wall and stuck there, mere inches from where his head had been. The Joker's laughter echoed behind him as he ran, barely remembering to collect his shoes as he sped out the front door, grateful to be alive.

Not more than five minutes later, Harley flounced in, the lilliripes on her jester's hat bouncing with her gait.

"Are you boys doin' – oh, he's gone already?" she asked, peering around the room.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Harley," the Joker replied, munching another cookie. "I do believe this might all have been just a bit too much for him. The poor man nearly had a heart attack! Nice man, but he's not much of a talker…"

The goon's corpse sat riddled with playing cards in the chair, an astonished look of terror still frozen on its face. The Joker deftly leaned over and pulled one of the bloody metal cards from the body, thoughtfully examining the grinning face emblazoned there.

"Harley, dearest?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the card's design.

"Yeah, Mistah J?"  
>"We certainly have some very… <em>odd<em> neighbors, don't we?"  
>"We shaw do, Mistah J. We shaw do."<p> 


	4. Chapter Four: You Scratch My Back

_A/N: Late-night update this time, and a rather short one this time. 12:40 AM, right on the cusp of Friday evening and Saturday morning? Hell, close enough. :)_

_Hey there, readers and reviewers! Let's all welcome another one - Matchet Hatchet. Thanks for the kind words, Matchet, Keywee, Scram, and CeeCeeG as well as non-reviewers alike from around the internets. As promised, here's the next chapter. Reviews are appreciated as always._

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: You Scratch My Back…<strong>

An uneasy sense of paralyzed quiet permeated the air around the house next door, thought Robert as he gazed at the loud abode from his own alcove window. A deceptive quiet, an unearthly, wrong, awful, _knowing_ quiet that only he and the house were privy to, and that only he and the house would know. The cursor blinked impatiently on his computer's screen, a gentle rhythm that did nothing to soothe his shaky nerves. But the bizarre house next door still lived, arresting his motionless, weary gaze with its loudness. Human motion flickered around its periphery – the beautiful, sporty purple car boasted as it rested comfortably in the winding driveway, the lady of the house waxing its flashy body to shining, almost mirror-like perfection – but no noise arose from it.

_As if it were any other house on the block,_ Robert said to himself, watching as Harley finished her work, got into the car, and parked it back inside the garage. _It's almost… __**normal**__. Almost innocent._

But he knew differently. Oh, he knew, an awful parasitic knowledge that clung to his mind, injecting terrible, poisonous thoughts and sapping his courage. Somewhere within those garish walls, _he_ was waiting, the horrible, sick psychopath with the madman's grin. Planning how next to torture his newfound toy, watching with those piercing, acidic eyes that sent tendrils of ice winding through Robert's vertebrae. Waiting for just the right moment to strike. And as Robert sat frozen, staring nervously out of the alcove window just above his computer, he _knew_ that madman was staring _right back_, even if he couldn't see him. Even if Robert thought he was alone and safe in his private retreat.

Even if he thought he wasn't.

"Robert? Are you alright?"

An electric jolt of panic forced Robert tensely upright in his office chair, his fingers slamming the computer's keyboard and spewing a random mess of black letters onto the blank white document. Every muscle ached with tension; his head snapped towards Alicia sharply, his gaze tired and anxious. Alicia's own brow wrinkled in alarm and worry.

"I'm… I'm sorry, honey," he sighed, turning back towards the screen. "I'm… I've just been a bit stressed out lately, that's all…"

"Writer's block again?" she cooed, wrapping her arms about Robert's chest in a loving embrace. "You're too hard on yourself, love; you always get like this when you don't know where to go next. Maybe you step away from the computer for a bit. This move's _really_ been hard on you, I've noticed…"

"Yes it has," Robert murmured guiltily, settling into his wife's warm arms. He didn't want to hide what he knew from her. It ate his insides up having to lie to her and cover things up like some sort of undercover agent, but what choice did he have? If he told, they'd all be in danger, and if they didn't, another set of risks entirely threatened them. He couldn't bear to lose her or Tracy, they were his life – and if he told her, and _he_ found out, which he surely would…

_No,_ Robert thought, sighing in frustration. _No, I won't do that to her. I can't. It'd be no better than taking a knife and slitting her throat myself…_

Alicia grew concerned at Robert's continued silence. He always did this when he was troubled, ever since they'd first met two years ago. Always, he kept it bottled inside, a spider in a bell jar he hoped would suffocate before it got free. It hurt her to see him like this, and to have nothing she could do to help…

_But maybe there is,_ she thought. _What about that little local Italian place Natalie told you about at work? Why don't you take him there? It's been so long since you two have had any time together with his work and your schedule…_

"… I have an idea, Robert," she murmured soothingly, playing with his scruffy ebony hair. "Why don't we go out to dinner? I know just the place; one of my coworkers gave me directions, and she said the food's very good there. Does Italian sound good to you? Hmm?"

Normally, Robert would have said no. He normally felt too drained to go anywhere this late in the day (it was getting close to six in the evening). But Alicia was right – he needed to get out of the house, far more than she knew, and any excuse to escape _his_ dark watch was one Robert would gladly take at this point. Besides, Italian _did_ sound good to his growling stomach right now…

"Alright, let's go to dinner, then," Robert relented, leaning up to kiss Alicia gently. "But who's going to watch Tracy? She can't be out in the city at night, it's too dangerous and past her bedtime anyway…"

"Well," Alicia said, letting go of Robert and leaning against the wall in thought. "There's always our neighbors. And I think Tracy would really like that sweet Harleen woman from next door; she seems good with kids. We could just drop Tracy off over at her house, and –"

"_No!_" Robert cried in sudden horror, his insides cringing in sick shock at the idea. The idea of his little girl trapped in _his_ lair, all alone in that house with _him…_

Alicia looked perplexed at his response.

"No?" she echoed back in confusion. "Well, why not? I'm sure her husband won't mind that much if she keeps Tracy out of his hair."

"Well… it's just that he's always tired from working such late hours, so he sleeps during the day," Robert fibbed. "He's not going to want a child underfoot while he's trying to sleep; you know how loud Tracy can get when she's playing and how she gets into everything… Why don't we ask Rose next door to keep an eye on her? That woman has the heart of a little girl, Tracy will love her."

"Well yes, we could do that," Alicia replied. "And I do understand – if it were me, I wouldn't want a four-year-old making noise while I was trying to sleep, either. I'll just call Rose's house and ask her instead. You get ready in the meantime. I'd like to be out of here by seven-thirty or so."

"Alright, I'll be ready by then, love."

Alicia smiled and quietly left, and Robert crumpled in the chair out of relief. That monster was never going to get his hands on Tracy; he'd never let him have her. Not this time, not ever.

Not five minutes later, a loud knock came from the front door, startling him.

"I'll get it, Alicia," Robert yelled down the hall, already standing and starting towards the door.

"Alright," she called back, "I'm just getting Tracy ready now."

Robert walked down the stairs and towards the front door, assuming that it was Rose. Perhaps Alicia had called her already and told her to come get Tracy. She didn't mess around when speaking on the phone; she spoke plainly and quickly, like a businesswoman speaking to a client. Of course, she was a banker, so this method of speech came easily to her and was no surprise to him, but it was still amusing to see and hear it outside of the workplace all the same.

Robert finally reached the door and opened it, but upon seeing who had come to his doorstep, he very nearly slammed it shut again. There _he_ stood, this time wearing both the long, purple trench coat and broad-brimmed fedora he'd seen in the house. How nobody saw and recognized him at this time of day was astonishing to Robert – but perhaps he wasn't the only one bullied into silence by this madman…

"Good evening, Robert," the Joker greeted cheerfully, giving a smile probably intended to be polite. Unfortunately, the expression looked less friendly and more devious.

"G-g-good evening," Robert parroted nervously, freezing where he stood. His hands shook like two frail autumn leaves in the wind. "C-can I help you…?"

_With nothing,_ Robert silently prayed. _Please say you don't want anything. Please say you're just here to scare me and leave. Please…_

"Oh, I was just working on a little… pet project, and unfortunately my drill bit snapped in half in the middle of it." The clown gave Robert an upset, childish pout, as if he were reporting his puppy had run away. "Anyway, I won't have time to buy another drill bit until Thursday evening; you wouldn't happen to have a spare on hand, would you…?"

_No, _Robert told himself._ No. I'll tell him I don't have one. I'll say no. I don't want to know how he managed to break a steel drill bit; Hell, I don't even want to know what he wants the drill bit __**for**__… but I have an idea…_

His stomach knotted at the sick thought, but he couldn't say no. Despite how much he wanted to, he couldn't. The last thing he wanted to do was anger the lunatic, and besides that, the man had an oddly persuasive way of speaking despite how dangerous he looked – and _was_. It was no surprise to him that anyone, even a skeptic, could so easily be sucked under by his aura of performance and danger, willingly becoming a pawn and placing their lives into his bony hands, not when he knew first-hand how coercive the madman could be.

"… I… I have a spare in the garage," Robert murmured in resignation, staring down at the floor. How he wished he could just shrink into it now; maybe then the Joker would leave him alone. Maybe he'd wake up in bed as if it were all a bad dream. "But I need it back by –"

"Not a problem, Bobby-boy!" the fool interrupted, a bright twinkle in his venomous eyes. "I'll just have Harley drop it back off tomorrow. I'll even have her clean it up for you if you want."

"That would be nice," Robert squeaked, imagination running wild with just what could possibly make the bit _need_ cleaning to begin with. So involved was he that he barely noticed how the Joker's dark, wild eyes continued to follow him into the garage, even piercing through the thick metal door.

Robert stopped once inside the garage and stared at the door as if it were the lunatic himself. Why on earth was he actually _helping_ this monster? He didn't have to. He could lock himself inside here, in the garage, and call the police. He could hide and never come out.

_But what if he runs from the police and escapes?_ spoke the paranoid spark in the back of his mind. _What if he remembers you after that and comes back to kill you and your family? Then what will you do?_

Nothing. Robert had no answer, and it haunted him as he dug into the rust-red toolbox and retrieved a drill bit from its small alcove on the side. And still he had none as he returned outside, feet reluctantly dragging him, a fear-induced zombie, forward.

"W-will this work?" he asked, holding the bit gingerly in his outstretched palm as if holding steak out to a hungry tiger.

"That's _precisely_ the type I need!" the Joker responded happily, dexterous fingers quickly plucking the bit from Robert's hand. A horrible grin crossed his features, the sight of it more than enough reason for fear's icy fingers to clamp themselves firmly around Robert's spine. "Thank you."

"You're… you're welcome…" Robert stammered, once more staring timidly at the ground and willing himself not to panic, his thoughts racing despite his best efforts.

_Go away go away go away go away GO AWAY…_

The clown's face fell into a look of vague concern, the sudden shift in emotion startling. If Robert hadn't known any better, he might actually have thought that the Joker genuinely _was_ worried about him.

"Why, whatever is the _matter _with you, Robert?" the madman asked. "Am I bothering you?"

"… I'm..." The words adhered to Robert's throat irremovably. "I'm actually…_ leaving_ soon…"

"Ah, a night on the town with the wife, I take it?" The Joker's grin widened lasciviously. "You sly devil, you. Have fun. Oh, and _do_ be careful – the city can be so _dreadfully_ unsafe at night… You two take care."

That said, the clown quietly turned and left, his head held down to hide himself and that strangely springy, lanky gait betraying something Robert wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know…

* * *

><p>"Now, you're positive we're in the right spot, Alicia?" Robert asked, peering out the car window at the dingy, neon-backlit buildings of the city. "I'm just going where you say to go, you know; I don't go into the city that often."<p>

"Yes, Robert, I'm certain," she said, double-checking her hand-written map for the fifth time in a row. "I go past this street every morning on the way to work. It's usually a bit busier around here than this, though, even in the evenings… Look, there's a parking meter right there; it's maybe a short walk from here to the restaurant itself."

Robert peered nervously out of the window as he backed into the spot. The grim buildings gave off little light from their windows, and the street was strangely empty for the time of night it was, despite how busy the nearby restaurant appeared. He didn't like it, but then again he didn't like most big cities in general. That, and he'd heard horror stories about just how dangerous Gotham City in particular could be, especially at night. And if his… _unique_ next-door neighbor had seen fit to warn him about it, then it surely had to be risky, perhaps even _worse_ than he'd previously thought.

Robert parked and turned off the car, handing Alicia the keys and straightening his tuxedo as he got out to put change in the meter. The street seemed lonely with only him standing next to the meter, he thought as he dug his wallet out and poked through the change in it with his finger. Vaguely, he wondered if it was always this quiet and Alicia had never seen it after dark, or if this was a mere coincidence.

"Three hours should do it, right Alicia?" he asked, retrieving several shiny quarters and placing his wallet back in his pocket.

No response.

"Alicia, is three hours enough?" he asked.

"Robert…" Alicia's voice was a hushed whisper, barely audible through the cracked-open car window. "Robert, get back in the car…"

Robert turned to look at her in confusion, and his face fell as he noticed her scared expression, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. She stared beyond him fearfully, eyes focusing somewhere just behind him…

The soft click of a gun cocking met Robert's ears briefly, and then from out of nowhere a massive body pinned him to the car, the strong arms of a mean-looking man refusing to yield.

"Car keys," the man growled roughly. "Money. _Now._"

A panicked scream from Alicia, followed by the sound of the car door's locks engaging. The sound only seemed to anger the attacker more, however, and soon Robert felt the cold metal barrel of a gun press to his head, promising death if he didn't comply.

"Open the door, lady!" the robber yelled. "Open it _now_ and _gimmie the damn keys_ or he's dead!"

Through what little of the window Robert could see, he saw Alicia climb into the driver's seat, preparing to gun the engine and speed off. Her eyes met his for the briefest second, wet with tears. She didn't want to lose him, not here. Not like this.

And then he heard a soft swish, one he was sure he'd heard before, of metal speeding through the air followed by a pained cry from the robber.

"Oh, are we having a party?" A smooth, cheerful, and very _familiar_ voice slithered into his ears. "I do so love parties. Then again, how could I _not?_"

The robber suddenly dropped Robert, sending him sprawling to the cement below, and he looked up to find the man slowly backing away, his hands trembling with barely restrained terror. Another look at his savior confirmed Robert's terrified suspicions, setting his own body shaking in fear. It _was_ the Joker, his gloved hands flicking through a set of playing cards as he leaned against a nearby building, a look of demented glee twisting his face into an awful smile.

"Oh, _shit_," the man whispered fearfully, as if denying what his eyes saw. "_Fuck_. Look, pal, I don't want no trouble…"

The Joker look almost amused by the robber's words, almost as if he were an elephant startled by a mouse, and pushed himself off of the wall in a quick, graceful motion.

"No?" he asked, sick smile slowly becoming a sicker grin as he came ever closer to the robber. "How about just _some_, then?"

The robber panicked and ran, but the Joker was far quicker. With all the speed of a striking cobra, his frail-looking gloved hand sprung out and caught the robber's wrist in a frighteningly ironclad grasp, and eventually the lunatic had the poor man pinned against the brick wall. Robert couldn't help but pity the robber now – he knew for himself what it felt like to be trapped by the Joker, paralyzed with fear and unable to do anything more than whimper. Then the madman did something that made Robert ill to watch.

He withdrew his own pistol, black and shiny and almost antique-looking, and took dead aim down the barrel of it, his poisonous gaze and a single hand the only thing holding the now pitiful-looking robber captive.

"You know, it _is_ quite dangerous in the city at night," he said nonchalantly, as if holding a conversation with the frightened robber over tea. "There's so many _freakish _characters running around. Speaking of, did you hear? Arkham Asylum had _another_ mass inmate breakout! _Again._ I daresay it was far easier for me _this time_ than the last…"

"T-that's not a real g-gun," the robber murmured to himself in denial, an attempt to calm his jangled nerves. "Nope, not…"

"I beg your pardon?" the Joker asked, looking vaguely offended. "We _were_ having a nice conversation, and you're interrupting it with your mumbling. I can't _stand _that, you know…"

"I-It's a gag, that's all!" The robber laughed nervously. "R-right? Y-you… heh… you dothat kind of shit _all _the time. T-there's p-probably like a flag in it or s-something… right?"

"Oh, you know, I'm really not sure," the clown responded, tilting his head in thought. "But you _are_ right, I do just _love_ to leave people laughing! In fact, this gun probably isn't even loaded, so you have nothing to worry about if I pull the trigger, right?"

"Don't!" the robber yelped, cringing. The Joker's grin widened.

"What, you don't _like_ playing Russian Roulette?" he probed, inspecting the gun closely. "Besides, you were _right_ about my weapon being a fake – this _is_ a gag gun. Wanna see?"

He jammed the weapon's barrel into the man's neck, and that was all Robert could stand to watch. As he turned away, a horrific squishing noise met his ears along with pained gurgling from the robber, followed by a heavy thump as the once-living robber crumpled dead to the pavement in a bloody heap.

"Oh," the Joker said, staring at the spear-flag protruding from the dead robber's neck. "I guess it _was_ loaded after all!"

Robert clung to the car's roof, shutting his eyes, willing himself not to vomit. This was too much. This was way too much, he'd said he'd leave Robert and his family alone. Robert almost wished the robber had taken their money and car keys instead, at the very least if he had, nobody would have _died._

He suddenly felt a spidery hand grasp his shoulder, and shuddered.

"What did I tell you?" the Joker murmured in a strange mock consoling. "Gotham City's _dangerous_ at night…"

Robert felt the crazed man's gaze leave him, staring beyond him now, staring at…

_Oh God, no. Leave her alone. Please._

Alicia screamed.

"Oh, is that your wife?" the Joker asked, peering into the car at her curiously. "Quite a pretty little thing, isn't she?"

"Don't you _dare touch her!_" Robert hissed, too afraid to attack the clown and far too wise to hit him, lest he end up like the unfortunate robber…

"R-Robert…" Alicia whimpered, her voice shaking as her hand crept toward the passenger side door. Her eyes never once left the Joker's knifelike stare, nor did his eyes leave hers. "Robert, get in the car. Right now."

Robert had never moved faster in his life than he did in getting inside of the vehicle. Alicia's foot pounded the gas, and the car roared as it sped into the city night.

"Bye!" the Joker called after them, his laughter ringing obscenely in the air as the car frantically zoomed away.

"We have to go to the police," Alicia murmured, shaken. "Right now."

Robert felt his stomach sink. No, they couldn't. If they went to the police and _he_ found out…

"Alicia… we can't," he said, fidgeting. "They won't be able to do anything. _We_ weren't the ones being attacked…"

Alicia stared at him in disbelief, eyes wide with fear. How could he say that at a time like this?

"He just killed the man that did," she insisted. "We just saw someone end up murdered; we can't just do _nothing_…"

"But he'll be gone by time the police get to the scene anyway," Robert pleaded. "Please, Alicia, let's just go home and forget about it…"

"No," Alicia said firmly. "We're going to the police. He could be _following us_, Robert; it's not safe to go home. What if he got to Tracy?"

Robert's heart sunk. She was right, they were witnesses to murder, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the Joker had put them in that position on purpose, just to torment them. Besides that, there was absolutely no changing Alicia's mind once she'd made it up, and he couldn't just tell her that going to the police would doom them both. Not when there was so much at stake.

And so, Robert spent the rest of the night at the police station in a jarred, nerve-wracked state of mind, pretending to know less than he did. With every question they asked, his paranoia escalated; every detail Alicia gave the officers reconfirmed his fears about just how brutal his neighbor could – and likely would – become if_ he_ ever found out about this. And every time they asked him, he trembled, instead letting his wife tell about the murder for him, nodding in agreement with her. After all, who amongst those officers would ever believe that, when Robert said that his neighbor was a complete lunatic, he literally meant it?


	5. Chapter Five: Shaky Relations

_A/N: Busy on the weekend just before spring break! I have an exam in Orgo Chem, trigonometry to do in Precalculus, and all sorts of side projects in between. This chapter would have come on Friday but I just had so much homework to finish, so here it is now instead. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Shaky Relations<strong>

"Oh, _relax_, Bobby – I already _knew_ you weren't going to tattle…"

Robert said nothing in response, too preoccupied with the fear writhing in his belly to even talk to his neighbor. The smooth, sinister voice on the other end of the phone line sounded _almost_ sincere, almost… apologetic, as if sorry for what its owner had done last night, as if he'd merely inconvenienced Robert only. But even if the speaker _was_ truly sorry, and truly _was_ trying to express regret, it wasn't working. The voice's owner could never quite shake that sinister, mocking tone, as if laughing at Robert, at the world, at nothing more than a whim. As if _everything_ were a joke. If Robert hadn't already known the man was completely insane, then that alone would have convinced him.

And of course _he_ knew what Robert had been up to, _he_ always knew. There was no shaking his terrifying watch; he was too parasitically clingy. Too unblinkingly adamant. He had Robert on a short leash that he held, promising danger and yanking him away at the very last second, and there was nothing that Robert could do about it, short of fearfully begging for him to stop.

"Don't you worry about it; I'm in a _good_ mood today," the voice continued. "A very good one, in fact – I just so happen to have _company_ over…"

"That's nice," Robert murmured. And if that, Robert thought, was his _good_ mood, then he'd hate to see his _bad one_.

"It certainly is!" the Joker cried emphatically. "I haven't had company over since you stopped by; it does get _so boring_ around here with just me and Ol' Harls… Speaking of, why don't you stop back over today sometime? Your visits usually prove… amusing."

Robert's heartbeat sped along with his thoughts.

_No. No. No no no no no nononono__**no**__._

"I-I'm afraid I'm too busy today," was Robert's shaky response. "And I'm glad you're in a good mood! I'm _really_ happy for you, believe me…"

A conspiratorial glance around, assuring Alicia was nowhere within hearing range. Sure enough, she was gone, already at work – and Robert, guiltily enough, hadn't even noticed for his lack of sleep due to nerves. Almost a week of this had taken its toll on him, draining him emotionally and mentally.

"Y-you really spooked us last night," Robert murmured truthfully, turning back to the window of his alcove to stare miserably at the Joker's house. "Really wasn't… _expecting_ that…"

"Ah, yes, well… I'm afraid I get a tad… _into_ my work," the clown replied, not without a little arrogance. "I'm quite the showman at heart, you see. Have been just about as long as I can remember, which between you and me, isn't all that far back… But I think it was at least since I was a child. Yes, at least that far back. A shame I can't remember any of it. I do just _love_ leaving smiles…"

A long pause. Robert got the distinct impression that the Joker was laughing inwardly.

"In any case, though," he continued, "I do apologize. You have a most _lovely_ wife by the way. She almost reminds me of another lovely young lady… I think her name _may_ have been Vicki. Or was it Lois? Jeannie? I do mix them up sometimes…"

Another pause, this time longer than the last as the Joker thought on the unknown woman's name. Whoever she was to have crossed him, Robert pitied her. Surely she was dead by now. Surely the Joker wouldn't have left such a thread to his past alive…

He could have hung up now. He could have hung up and left the Joker consumed by his thoughts, and yet he knew that would anger him – the last possible thing Robert wanted to do.

All the same, though, this was draining him terribly. He _had_ to sit back and be away from him for a second or he'd surely go insane from overstimulation. Christ, he'd already been on the phone with him for an hour. The clown could _not_ shut up for the life of him, and it was giving Robert the worst headache imaginable. And so Robert gently, cautiously set the phone on his desk, holding his exhausted head in his hands, hoping that the Joker would assume he'd lost his cell phone signal and hang up first. He knew it was rude, yes, but he'd do anything at this point just to make his unwanted caller _hang up_.

If only he had the courage to simply hang up himself.

"Robert?" the voice from the speaker sounded tinny from its location two feet away. "Robert, are you still there?"

_Please go away,_ Robert thought tiredly. _I don't want to talk with you anymore; I don't want to talk with you __**ever.**_

"Don't you _dare_ pretend you've lost your signal, Robert. I _know_ you're still there and listening to me. I can see you right now through your upstairs window, holding your head and moping…"

Robert bolted upright as if electrocuted, the phone magically finding its way to his ear again.

"H-hi," Robert muttered sheepishly.

"Much better," the madman responded cheerfully. "Now as I was saying, I'd love to meet yo-"

A sudden, tortured cry for help interrupted them both, vaguely in the background but still loud enough for Robert to hear every anguished note in it.

"Oh _God_… someone _help me_, _**please…**_"

A terrible shriek of pain and fear cut it off only seconds later. Robert was almost afraid to ask, yet somehow found the courage.

"W-what was that…?"

"What was what?" the Joker asked, feigning innocence.

"That… scream."  
>"Oh, that would be my guest. Speaking of, would you hold on a second?"<p>

Robert's stomach did awful loops as the phone clattered onto a hard surface on the other end of the line.

_Oh God. Oh __**Christ**__, what is he doing now…?_

A raucous shriek in the background answered his question.

"Harley! _HAR! LEY!_"  
>"<em>What?<em> I'm takin' care'a the guy like ya said!"  
>"Well, keep him <em>quiet<em>, would you? I'm trying to have a telephone conversation!"  
>"With who?"<br>"With it's none of your business, just keep it down, that's who!"  
>"Oh! Okay then!"<p>

And then a sudden loud, unpleasant crunch-smashing sound echoed over the phone line, followed by a terrible, pained shriek.

"Shuddup!" Harley screamed. "Mistah J is on da phone!"

"Please, Harley, don't hurt him!" the Joker laughed wildly, besides himself with awful mirth, and ice shot through Robert's veins.

Torture.

He was listening to _someone being_ _tortured_. And unless he wanted to share that same fate, there was nothing that he could do to help the poor man.

Somewhere in that eternal stretch of time, the Joker contained himself and picked up the phone again.

"So, Robert," he replied nonchalantly, the whimpering of his victim a soft, ambient noise. "You were saying?"

"I was saying that's great, gotta go now," Robert stammered hastily. "Have a n-novel to finish, a-and –"

"Oh, of course you do!" the clown agreed. "I'd absolutely _hate_ to keep you waiting, you know… and besides, I really do need to get back to entertaining my guest. By the way, if all goes well you should have your drill bit back by tonight if not sooner. Actually, maybe later… it _does_ need some rather desperate cleaning done…"

The sound of a drill's whining filled the phone's speaker, along with yet more of that terrifying laughter.

Robert hung up hurriedly. One call from the Joker was more than enough for him for one day, sickly fear replacing exhaustion from talking. He didn't want to hear the kind of pain he'd just heard from any human being ever again. And he certainly didn't want to know just how in the _Hell_ that lunatic had gotten his phone number...

* * *

><p>The backyard, where Tracy had been playing for the last hour or so, was suspiciously quiet, thought Robert, as he prepared his daughter's lunch. Two thin slices of bologna rested between pristine white bread, a glop of salad dressing gluing the sandwich together. Tracy loved this particular sandwich; her 'special' sandwich she called it. Her favorite. She never passed up the opportunity for one, and often begged Robert to make it for her.<p>

Robert fidgeted as he placed the sandwich on a paper plate and rested it on the table. That silence outside was beginning to get to him; it was worrisome. Perhaps she was playing so intently that she was saying nothing. After all, the pool was fenced in and childproofed, so she couldn't have gotten into that. But still…

Robert slid the glass door open and stuck his head outside, a quick glance outside reassuring his fears of Tracy potentially drowning. She was nowhere near the pool. In fact, she was nowhere to be found within what was visible from the doorway whatsoever. Was she hiding around a corner, or behind a bush, hoping to scare daddy as he walked out to call her name for lunch?

"Tracy!" he called, smiling. "Tracy, it's time to eat, come inside! I made your special sandwich!"

No response greeted his ears, and no giggling came from behind the rows of hedges lining the backyard area. Not a peep, not a shuffling, nothing.

Robert stepped outside to look behind the shed, concerned. Where on Earth _was_ she? It wasn't like her to say nothing when he called her name…

"Tracy? This isn't funny, sweetie… Come on, come inside…"

But no response came, and Tracy was nowhere in the backyard. Nowhere in sight. Nowhere.

"… Tracy?"

A sickly pit settled into Robert's stomach, all his fears crashing onto him like so many lead weights. She was gone.

His little girl was gone.

* * *

><p>The small but elegant wrought-iron end table's curlicue arms upheld a small glass tabletop, upon which was situated a radio – the only normal-looking thing in the entire den. And it was very necessary, seeing as the desk was disastrously cluttered already. Strewn across its proud mahogany surface were a myriad of papers, all covered in half-scribbled, flamboyant writings, and on top of these set the metallic pieces and wires of a half-assembled bomb.<p>

The Joker's acid green eyes focused on his task with a scorching intensity, fully concentrated on the task of piecing the contraption together. His jacket rested draped over the back of the chair; he'd rolled the sleeves of his orange dress shirt up to his elbows for convenience's sake, making him look not unlike an absurdly pallid mad inventor in his laboratory. This mechanism was only a prototype, and one designed to be very powerful at that. He'd been tinkering at it for hours now, tweaking here and there to get just the right amount of explosive power without it going off in his hands. Behind him on the radio, one song ended and another began.

"Ooh, _Crazy Train_!" he exclaimed in glee as he turned to adjust the volume by several clicks. "One of my favorites…"

He turned his attention back to the prototype sitting on his desk. He was very close to finishing now, very, very close. The plan for making this type of bomb was incredibly simple; he'd designed it that way on purpose. Even a monkey could assemble it given time. But one screw-up now, one single mistake, and the whole house would go sky high. As long as he was careful, however, and as long as everything went according to plan, all would go just –

"Hiyas, Mistah J!" Harley's irritating soprano voice chirped.

The Joker jumped at the sudden intrusion, a tiny metal bolt falling from his fingers and rolling away under the desk somewhere. That idiot girl had no idea how _dangerous_ this task was! In fact, he _did_ remember _specifically_ mentioning the danger to her…

"Harley," he asked, his tone precariously dangerous and dark. "Didn't I tell you never to bother me while I'm _working?_"

"S-Sorry… M-mistah J," the motley-clad girl stuttered. "B-but…"

The Joker glared at her irritably, and she shrunk under his caustic gaze.

"But?"

"T-tha cookies are done…" Harley murmured nervously. "I-I just thought –"

"Apparently not, or you would have listened the _first time_ when I _told you_ that I was handling a _bomb prototype!_" the Joker screamed, standing up from his desk to lean over her imposingly.

Harley squeaked fearfully and nearly dropped the platter of cookies she'd been holding. She'd just recovered from his _last_ tirade; she really didn't need to make him angry again…

The Joker stared at her angrily for a second, and then sat back down.

"… So. Cookies. You interrupted me because of cookies."

"W-well I thought you'd want some is awl," was Harley's meek reply. " 'C-cause they're yer favorite, an' I thought you'd be hungry…"

The Joker sighed in frustration and buried his face in his hands. He was far too busy to waste time yelling at her right now. That girl really did try _much too hard_ to impress him sometimes…

"Just go put the cookies away, Harley," he said, exasperated. "I don't want any. And if you _don't_ want me to blow us both to Kingdom Come, _leave me_ _alone_."

"Got it, puddin'!" Harley squeaked, leaving as quickly as possible. After all, her darling wasn't exactly known for his patience…

"And _stop calling me 'pudding'!_" the Joker yelled after her, kneeling onto the floor behind his desk to look for the missing bolt. And on the radio played.

_Mental wounds still screaming  
>Driving me insane<br>I'm going off the rails on the crazy train!_

A small patter of footsteps suddenly caught his ears, and he felt his anger flare once more, hot and dangerous in its intensity. Good_ Lord_, what could that silly woman _possibly_ want now? Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Did she _enjoy _being chastised? And _that's_ where that bolt got to!

A pair of spidery fingers reached out to pick up the miniscule piece of metal and dropped it safely into his waiting palm. Now for Harley…

The Joker sat back up, prepared to launch yet another verbal tirade, only to find a surprising sight awaiting him.

Two bright, kind blue eyes stared curiously back at him, fathoming the strange man before them from a child's innocent face. The girl's long black ponytails hung low on her head, her grass-stained overalls showed wearing (clear evidence of heavy play), and dirt blackened her tiny, bare feet. She couldn't have been much older than five, and it was plainly clear to the clown prince that the child had absolutely no idea whom she was looking at, judging by the lack of fear in her eyes.

The Joker's brow knit in bewilderment. A little girl? Why was there a child in his house, and how on Earth had she gotten there? That cowering pawn of a man next door _had_ mentioned that he had a daughter – was this her?

"… Can I… help you?" he responded blankly, scrutinizing the child.

"Hi," the girl said brightly, grinning a gap-toothed grin. "I'm Tracy! What's _your_ name?"

"Go away," the Joker snapped, resuming his work.

The little girl's blue eyes bored into him with an irritatingly strong fascination.

"But that's not a name…"

The Joker glared imposingly at her, hoping to scare her off that way.

"I said _go away_. I don't have time for games."

"But I wanna play!" the girl said. "Please play with me mister! Please?"

… _I wanna play._ It had been such a long, long time since he'd heard _that_ phrase uttered unironically. And usually, _he_ was the one saying it, to a victim, or to his favorite of toys, Batman… But to hear a child saying it…

_How annoying,_ the Joker thought as he scoffed and once more resumed his work on the bomb, ignoring the child hanging off his desk like a glob of glue from a bottle.

_God_, he hated children.

"… Harley?" he asked, looking up at the door expectantly. As if on cue, the woman quizzically poked her motley-clad head into the room.

"Yes, Mistah J?"

"… Why is there a little girl standing in my workroom?" he asked, staring pointedly at her.

Harley peered at the child, and a look of vague recognition crossed her face.

"Oh! I know her, that's Mista Cleahwatah's kid!" she said, grinning. "She must'a run off while she was playin'! Ya want me to take her back home foah yas?"

The Joker peered down at the child, a wicked smile of understanding darkening his already terrifying features. So this _was_ his neighbor's child, and now _he_ had her. Leverage, ransom, extortion… all this and more came to mind with a feverish intensity as he looked at the child.

Oh, this… this _would_ be fun…

"Oh no, Harley, not just yet," he replied, that razor's-edge smile never leaving his face for a second. "Why, she seems like such a _sweet, friendly_ little thing… and besides, Bobby-boy will be looking for her… Why not keep her here a while?"

"Okay, puddin', if you're shuah…"

Harley left without another word, leaving the child alone with him. She wasn't about to question her sweetheart's authority. That wasn't her place. But she did hope that the child was alright; she knew how bad her darling was with children…

The Joker's devious gaze flicked back towards the child, who stood staring at him as if confused, still waiting for him to play with her. What most intrigued him was how… _unafraid_ she was of him, how courageous she was for staring directly at him despite the danger. _Every_ child in this city was afraid of him because every child knew who he was. The _stories_ their parents must tell them about him, the threats. _Be good,_ they'd say,_ Or else the Joker will come after you!_ Oh yes, every child he'd ever met had, like every adult, trembled before him. But not her.

It annoyed him. Why was this child just _standing there_, standing fearlessly in front of a man who could easily slaughter her in a heartbeat?

"Do you even know who I am…?" he mused aloud, failing to comprehend this young human being.

"Sure I do!" the little girl said, grinning. "You're a _clown_! I like clowns. They're funny."

His own grin widened at that, and he barely stifled a laugh. _Funny?_ She was so incredibly precocious, so innocent.

So _corruptible._

"… You think I'm _funny_, do you?" the Joker responded in black amusement. "What a _polite_ thing of you to say! I think so, too. Look!"

He stuck his tongue out at her, crossing his eyes, and the girl giggled in amusement.

"You're silly!" she said, grinning widely.

"I know, aren't I _just?_" he replied, leaning on his elbows childishly. "Maybe because I _smile_ so much. Sometimes I even make other people smile, too! Do you think that's silly of me?"

"No, I think that's a nice thing to do," the child said.

The Joker nearly started laughing.

"Oh really?" he exclaimed incredulously, holding back hysterics. The child looked incredibly confused.

"Why are you laughing so much?" she asked, leaning further onto the desk simply to look up at the clown. "And why are your arms all white? And why are you wearing green nail stuff?"

"Because everything's so funny!" the Joker answered brightly. "And it's make-up. And I _like_ the color green on my nails. It matches my eyes."

The child squealed with laughter, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"That's silly!" she cried gleefully. "Boy grown-ups don't paint their nails! _Mommy_ paints her nails!"

"Indeed it is!" the Joker cried back, his own eyes glittering with a much darker amusement than the child's. "Aren't _you_ just delightful? Now… why don't you come over here to Uncle J, hmm? If you're _extra_ good, I'll even give you something special…"

* * *

><p>The terror buried Robert like an avalanche.<p>

Three hours. His child had been missing now for three hours. His hand clenched the phone in a vice grip, nearly breaking the device. His little girl… What if she was hurt? What if someone took her?

Oh God.

What if _he_ had gotten to her?

Robert's mind went blank with horror. Oh God, no, not_ him_… If _he_ had her, if_ he_ had found her… he'd _kill her._ He'd never, ever see his little girl again. His beautiful little girl…

… What would he tell Alicia?

_She's too young to die. Too young. Too young. God, __**please**__ let her be far, far __**away**__ from that monster, safe far away from him. Anyone but him. Anyone…_

And then, a sound from behind him, a voice that instantly quieted his fears.

"… Daddy?" Came a small voice from the kitchen. "I'm hungry…"

Robert's heart began to swell with relief. Was she, could she be…?

His head snapped up to find Tracy standing in the kitchen, the sliding glass door cracked open just enough for a tiny body to get through.

"Tracy!"

He flew to her and pulled her tiny frame to his tightly, not daring to let go lest she slip away again. Relief crashed over him, driving out all fear from his mind. She was alive. His baby girl was _still alive._

"Hi daddy!" she said cheerfully, hugging back tightly.

"Tracy, where _were you?_" he asked, icy blue eyes anxious and alleviated. "I looked everywhere for you, and you didn't answer me…"

Her wide, innocent blue eyes gazed up at him as if it were obvious.

"I went to the pretty house, daddy."

Robert was mystified. The 'pretty house'? What did his child _mean_, the 'pretty house'?

"What pretty house, Tracy?" he asked, setting her down. "There's lots of pretty houses around here…"

"The _rainbow_ one!" she exclaimed, beaming, a look of excitement on her face. "The pretty rainbow one with all the colors…"

A cold pit formed in Robert's stomach, bleaching the color from his face. She hadn't. She didn't mean…

"Tracy… Did you go next door? _That_ house?"

"Yeah!" Another excited look crossed Tracy's face. "There are _clowns_ living in that house, daddy! They were funny. The girl one is really pretty."

Her hand fidgeted with something in her left pocket, and yet more fear crashed over Robert like a wave. Oh God, what did he do to her? Did he slip something dangerous into her pocket when she wasn't looking?

"What is that?" he asked worriedly. "Can I see it?"

"Okay!" Tracy chirped, her tiny hand sliding out of her pocket and unfolding to reveal a folded sheet of smiley-face stickers.

"… Oh, that's nice," Robert lied, staring at the stickers as if they were a live rattlesnake. "… Where did you get those from?"

"Uncle Jay gave me them for being good!" she said proudly, grinning. "Want one?"

Robert's head reeled as he sat down heavily on the couch. The Joker knew about his daughter. He knew that he could win her over if he wanted to, she was so young and impressionable… and so precious as a hostage. And then he remembered them – _his_ words, ringing clearly in his head like an iron death knell.

_Know this, Robert: the Clearwaters are far more useful to me __**alive**__ than __**dead**__…_

Robert trembled. There… there was no _stopping him_, no limits to what he'd do just to tease his victim and make him obey. And worse yet, he was _laughing at _him. Trying to slowly drive him mad with little threats, pulling back at the last minute, yanking the leash back just before disaster and danger hit… This horrific nightmare was nothing more than _amusement_ to him…

"… No thank you, Tracy," Robert whispered, sweating. "Listen… sweetie, you can't go over there ever again, understand?"

Tracy's wide blue eyes stared up at him in disappointment.

"But… why?" she asked. "Uncle Jay is _really_ funny and _really_ nice. I like him…"

"… Maybe, but he's also very busy, pumpkin, and he doesn't like being bothered," Robert lied. "So don't go over there anymore, okay sweetheart? Now, your special sandwich is in the fridge, you should go eat it…"

"Okay," Tracy sighed heavily, trudging off to the kitchen to get her lunch. Robert had to envy her innocence. She didn't know the danger. And she would never know, God willing, because he'd never have to give her a reason to let her know. Never, because he wouldn't let that monster attack his family. He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

Robert sunk into his chair, shaken to the core. And yet, he almost had to stifle a nervous laugh.

Stickers. That lunatic had given his child _stickers?_

_He really __**doesn't**__ want us dead yet, does he?_ Robert thought, mind far too shaken to write. _Not yet. Not unless I kill them __**myself**__… What does he __**really**__ want from me? Why is he __**really**__ doing this?_

As if on cue, his cell phone began to ring, and yet again, it reluctantly found its way to his ear.

"Hello?" Robert asked wearily, praying that it was a telemarketer for once and not his neighbor.

"… Your drill bit is in your daughter's right pocket," the Joker's voice stated smoothly. "And from now on, your hyperactive child stays _out_ of my house, because if I see her over here again, your _sweet little cherub_ will _never_ stop smiling."

He hung up, the disconnect tone blaring like an angry siren, and Robert let the phone slide out of his hand and to the floor, his body sitting frozen and numb on the couch as if paralyzed by the venom in those words; as if his blood had turned to ice.


	6. Chapter Six: Pest Control

**_A/N: Hello one and all, and welcome to yet another early update. Why so early? Because I'm doing a presentation for the Public Museum tomorrow with the rest of my Organic Chemistry II class, and I won't be back home until 4:00 PM. You don't wanna wait until nearly 4:30 for the next chapter of the fic, do you? I thought so. So here's chapter six, enjoy! And if anyone else is on Spring Break, have fun. :)_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Pest Control<br>**

"He needs a _what?_" Robert asked the woman incredulously, certain that he'd misheard some aspect of the request.

Harley stood implacably in the doorway, smiling sweetly, her hands fidgeting slightly. Her blue eyes sparkled in a deceptive innocence, one Robert knew she didn't and couldn't have. Nobody who worked for _him_ could possibly retain anything innocent – it had to die, or _he_ would slaughter it himself.

"An electric carvin' knife, yanno, one'a da plug-in ones?" Harley repeated, motioning as if plugging in some appliance or another. "His kinda broke last night, an' he ain't got time ta get anothah one."

"Yes, but _how on earth_ do you break one of those?" was Robert's exhausted reply. "What was he doing with it, propping up a table?"

"Actually, he was carvin' someone – I mean somethin', a big ham or somethin', an' he hit a bone an' it snapped da blade off."

Harley played with one of her ponytails, a nervous habit of hers ever since she'd been a little girl. She may have said too much already, and if she _had_ and her darling found out, she'd be sleeping on the cement floor of the basement for a month. As it was, Mr. Clearwater looked nervous now, as if he already knew what the tool's ultimate use was. That was the last thing she or J needed right now, not when they were so dependent on this rube's cooperation. If she got them caught…

"So um, do ya gots one or not?" she asked, putting on a façade of calm. " 'Cause he said a regular ol' handsaw'll work fine if ya don't."

Robert scarcely heard her words. He remained far too focused on the sensation of color draining from his face to understand, but he knew now of what she spoke. The screaming on the phone the other night, the suspiciously shiny-clean drill bit in his daughter's pocket… his tools were being used and abused for something _awful_, something vile and evil to the core. He couldn't just give her the tool she asked for; he'd be an accomplice to murder if he did. But then again, if Robert said no and _he_ found out…

"I… don't have a carving knife, but…" a heavy sigh escaped Robert's lungs. "… There's… a bow saw in the garage, on the wall… Fine tooth…"

"Oh dat'll work jes' _perfect!_" Harley squealed. "Yer a lifesava, Mistah Cleahwatah, really!"

Robert watched miserably as she flounced into the garage to find the tool, humming cheerfully to herself. If only he could bring himself to be that cheerful and mean it. If only he were free to do so, to run, to have never engaged in a deal with the devil himself… but that would be suicide now. He'd made his choice already, and would have to keep making the same one if he wanted to live. The Joker might as well have handed him a choice of weapons to Robert for use in his own self-murder.

"Oh, an' he said he'd have it back faw ya by tomorra at the latest," Harley added as she walked out of the garage, saw in hand. "Thanks again!"

Robert's heavy head found a place in his outstretched palms, the guilt too overwhelming for words.

* * *

><p>The racket emanating from next door was as deafening to Robert as it was hellish.<p>

Alicia watched the movie on screen calmly, the sound of it all but drowning out the noise to her. But Robert could hear all of it. Every agonized, fearful wail, fervent and pleading even as it fell upon deaf ears. The horrific whining of power tools. The thick thudding of something blunt striking another object with terrific force (God, how he hoped it was only the floor!), and even, at one point, the heady, dark roar of a chainsaw. But worst of all, incomparably worst in awfulness with the rest of the noise, was the laughter, a high-pitched, cackling, mirthless cacophony. It pierced through walls, through flesh, even through bone to bury itself somewhere in Robert's brain, a sonic bullet chilling all it touched.

And the worst thing about that audible Hell was that it never, ever _stopped_. Not for air, not for a moment's peace, never. For the fourth time this week, as with everything concerning his horrific neighbor, Robert wanted to vomit.

"Oh for God's sake," Alicia huffed in annoyance, startling Robert. "If those two next door don't turn down whatever dumb slasher flick they're watching, I'm going to go over there myself! It's nearly nine at night; they're going to wake up Tracy..."

Robert's pancreas turned to lead.

"You don't have to go over there, they're almost always busy and they don't get that much time together…" Robert mumbled quickly.

"Oh, they're always busy alright; I can hear them _then_ too," was his wife's blunt response. "Who in the Hell is so loud in bed that it goes through the walls of _the next door neighbor's house?_"

"Alicia, love, your temper's getting the better of you again," Robert cautioned, pulling her close gently to play with her hair. He did love Alicia so, but her anger more often than not got the better of her.

"Well if you don't want _me_ over there, you'd better go talk to them and tell them to turn it down," Alicia retorted as she rested on his shoulder. "They're being incredibly rude and I'm sick of it."

Robert sighed, twining his fingers in her long, auburn waves. He _really_ didn't want to call next door. Hell, he didn't even know how to word his complaint. What was he supposed to say, _"Hey, Joker, could you stop torturing people? The wife and I are trying to watch a movie"_? But he knew Alicia, and if she got angry enough she very well could storm next door. And then… then there'd be no telling what danger she'd be in, or what torment that madman would put her through, just to get Robert to cooperate.

With a heavy heart, Robert gently slid from his wife's grasp, threw on a pair of sandals, and wandered nervously over to next door.

The house looked almost peaceful by night, its Day-Glo colors muted by the smoggy, blue-black sky. Here and there a few streetlights flickered, their light providing a glimpse of the loudness that the night otherwise cloaked. The shaded windows glowed with manipulative warmth, backlit by some sort of internal light source; the door's colored glass panels looked like enormous Christmas lights containing the artificial illumination within. It looked dangerously, profoundly normal, and for a second Robert felt almost at ease.

Almost, until he approached the home's front door and slid his finger shakily onto the doorbell.

Almost as soon as he rang, the door squealed softly open, just enough for a man to enter. Out poked _his_ disturbed and disturbing head, surprised and spattered with reddish… _something._ In the background, someone whimpered fearfully.

"Mmmm_yes?_" he replied, grinning, his voice as greasy and toxic as an oil slick.

"Uh… hi… G-good evening, uh…" Robert stuttered stupidly. "Hi. N-nice night…?"

"Why yes, it _is_ a lovely evening," the Joker responded, peering up at the cloudy sky above. "Nice and warm, windless, not too muggy... perfect weather for _bats_. But I'm fairly sure that's not why you're here, is it?"

"N-no… uh…" Robert lowered his gaze nervously, and my, weren't his feet looking fascinating tonight? "A-actually I just… y-you're just being… k-kind of loud? W-would you mind keeping the noise down a bit…?"

"Oh, is that all?" the clown asked, smiling almost apologetically. "I was having so much fun that I'd forgotten! You two like to _sleep_ at this time of night, don't you? … Say, is there something on my face? You're giving me the _strangest_ look…"

Good _Lord_, that blood spatter was distracting, thought Robert as he stared at the red spray on the madman's face, stark against his pallid skin. It was as if someone had sucked all the color out of a portrait, leaving only a few swatches of green and a smattering of red paint left. Except this wasn't paint, and Robert knew it…

"U-uh… y-yeah… it's…" Robert swallowed nervously. "I-it's all over…"

"Oh. I thought so, thank you." The clown produced a bright teal handkerchief from his sleeve and proceeded to clean his face of the red spray, smears of it staining the silk perversely.

"There we are, much better," he responded, smiling. "You go rest, I'll try my best to keep it to a… well, maybe not a_ minimum_, but at least to a dull roar. You two have a nice evening now, you hear?"

The smile split into a wide grin, and the door slammed quickly shut in Robert's face, the force of the slam resonating with his stunned fear.

* * *

><p>Alicia jolted awake sometime around midnight, adrenaline surging arrow-like through her veins. Her eyes stared forth into the darkness, fearing some unseen pursuer, but none was apparent. Her thoughts lent nothing helpful as she sat, shaking and fog-headed, only mentally whimpering a single, paranoid thought.<p>

_There's someone outside the house._

A sudden crashing sound from outside snapped Alicia's eyes towards the curtains adorning the bedroom window, confirming some hideous fear she'd rather not know. That _wasn't_ a good sound. It sounded… _almost_ as if something – or some_one_ – had tipped over the brown waste disposal bin just outside the garage door.

Alicia swallowed a nervous lump in her gullet. Their bedroom was, of course, above the garage…

Her hands found a sturdy metal bat she kept bedside for emergencies, and she rose from her bed cautiously. She gave a quick glance back to assure Robert still slept, and he did, uneasily, but unbothered by her motions as she stood. Good. The last thing she needed now was for him to start worrying too.

Slowly, her feet crept towards the window, and her hand drew the curtain back just enough to peer outside. Just enough. She didn't want to alert the intruder to her presence...

Alicia exhaled, unaware she'd ever stopped inhaling. Nobody was outside. Not a soul. But the trash bin was tipped over, garbage spewed everywhere across the pavement. Whoever it was had tipped the garbage can over and run away, leaving behind another fine mess for her to clean tomorrow, and yet another reason for her to hate living in Gotham. Robberies and vandalism in the suburbs. Rampant crime in the city. Even the country wasn't safe from threats every now and again, what with that Arkham Institute place's terrible security record. Why couldn't Robert have sought his inspiration somewhere nicer, like Metropolis? At least they could keep their worst criminals mostly under control there…

Her thoughts were jarred suddenly by footsteps. Loud footsteps. Running footsteps. Alicia tensed, her hands clenching the handle of the metal bat with the white-knuckled strength of ten women. And then she realized something was… _wrong_, something awful that sent the situation spinning into yet another set of fears.

The footsteps weren't running towards the house. They were running _away_. And now, there was another set of them, calmer, more precise, walking footsteps.

The next sound happened so quickly she was sure she'd misheard.

A gunshot, unmistakably clear, rang through the suburb. _Her_ suburb. _At her house._

Alicia backed away from the window, trembling now. There _was_ someone outside the house. Two people, in fact. And one of them had a gun.

A sudden, horrified cry came from outside, and Alicia instinctively ducked down, trembling as she clung to the metal bat as if it were a security blanket. She could die. Robert could die. Tracy could be hurt. She had to call the police, but what if the robber brute-forced his way inside? What did he _want?_

All was silent for a second, just for a few tense seconds, and then a terrifying sound greeted her ears, slithering through her auditory canals and chilling her soul.

Laughter. She heard _laughter._ But this laughter didn't sound joyful. It sounded… _forced_. It sounded wrong and desperate, like a cry for help that only escalated in severity with the sound of its false amusement. And as suddenly as it had began, it stopped, halting mid-syllable as if cut off somehow. An aura of sickly foreboding settled over her mind like a death shroud. There was a presence missing now outside, one of the two sets of footsteps… was gone. It was as if he'd never been there, never existed; as if he'd simply faded away.

The last echoing footsteps trailed casually off towards the neighbor's house, and her mind reeled. Oh God, was the murderer now going after the neighbors after having callously killed his partner? He had a gun. He could kill them. She had to do something.

Shakily, Alicia crept back towards the window and lifted the curtain to peer outside once more.

She saw no killer. But she did see a man, tall and thin, calmly unlocking the front door of the house next door. _His_ house.

Alicia almost collapsed as the tension ebbed away. Their next-door neighbor had scared off the murderer for them, sparing them a potentially dangerous break-in. Reassured; she found her way back into bed, curling up warm and safe beneath the sheets. Robert stirred as she edged back into bed.

"Mm… what is it, Alicia?" Robert murmured sleepily.

"Oh nothing, dear, just a… raccoon or something that got into our garbage can," she fibbed, not wanting Robert to worry. "The neighbors must have spooked it coming home, and it ran away."

"That's nice," Robert muttered, not quite hearing her as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Alicia smiled as she laid her head on the pillow, sleep tugging gently at her eyelids. Their neighbor was truly a saint.

* * *

><p><em>The pain.<em>

_The __**pain.**_

_It was ceaseless, inescapable, endlessly attacking mind, soul, and body with equal abandon. God, how long had he been here, shattering, crumbling, unraveling under the immense agony of it all? Much longer and he'd go insane. He surely would. But the worst yet was that he wasn't alone. Never alone… __**He**__ was there, watching insatiably like a hungry wolf, watching and __**laughing**__…_

_Laughing…_

_His haunted, sleepless eyes stared upwards, garish colors searing his eyes with neon. He couldn't move much from weakness; these chains were so heavy. His lacerations burned as they bled, broken bones and bruises screaming at him to stop, please stop, anything but more motion. Acid burns scarred his emaciated chest and arms, itching terribly, yet his eyes held no tears. He had forgotten how to cry long ago, forgotten how to express sorrow now that his life was filled with it. Forgotten…_

_Why had he been abandoned? Why didn't anyone come to save him? What had he done to deserve entrapment with a madman and the death of his family? He was innocent._

_Oh God, __**he was innocent**__…_

_Only, he wasn't innocent, and he knew it. He'd killed them himself. Killed them dead by letting __**him**__ have them. Their screams of pain and terror played on an endless loop for him. The blood ran so vividly from her wounds, his child's lifeless eyes stared from a head attached to a flayed and mutilated body. Oh yes, __**he**__'d been __**thorough**__. And the whole time, as his wife and his daughter pleaded and begged for mercy, __**he**__'d laughed. And the life drained from their eyes, __**his**__ own venomous, mad eyes glowing brighter and more malevolently as his victims perished…_

_The clown towered dangerously over him now, a power drill in one hand and a bone saw in the other. It was beginning again, as it always did, as it always would, and still Robert instinctively skittered back weakly, moving mere inches from his tormentor as he peered hopelessly upward._

_The Joker's dispassionate mask of a face slowly twisted into a horrific grin._

"_You're worth more to me __**alive**__," he sneered, drawing ever closer to his quivering victim. "I want you __**alive**__, Robert…"_

_The saw came down slowly against Robert's withered arm, the blade's teeth bit unforgivingly into his scarred flesh; the monster's terrible laughter rang through the neon dungeon Robert was forced to call his home. And like so many times before, so many times innumerable, Robert screamed, the sound ringing endlessly…_

Robert jolted awake to a terrified shriek. But to his dismay and despite his horrific nightmare, it wasn't his.

It was Alicia's.

Sickly panic flooded every synapse of his weary, half-woken brain. Oh God, no. He swore he wouldn't attack them. He _promised_…

The run downstairs was a blur; Robert came to the door nearly instantaneously, heart pounding in paranoid tandem with his racing thoughts. Alicia stood sobbing in the doorway, beautiful face sheet white, her hands trembling in fear. He'd never seen her like this, this strong, beautiful woman ruled by logic left so terrified, so… _helpless_.

"Oh God, Robert…" her voice was a hushed whisper. "Oh God, h-he's…"

"Alicia, love, what's wrong?" Robert asked, mind reeling with concern. His arms wrapped about her in comfort, holding her trembling, nightshirt-clad frame to his. "What's…?"

And then his eyes came to rest on what lay outside, the item that so shocked and terrified his stoic wife to tears.

Lying dead on the front patio, mere inches from the doorway, rested the rigid body of a man, yet the corpse itself was not the most disturbing part. Its appearance alone was… Its skin held a deathly chalk-white hue, its mouth stretched into an eerie, unnatural grin. Its blind eyes gazed lifelessly, fearfully into into the home's doorway, a marker of a slow, terrible demise. Pinned to the shirt was a letter.

Robert steeled himself as he released Alicia from his grasp and reached forth to grab the note, bile rising in his throat. The flamboyantly scrawled words leapt from the page in a vibrant purple ink. It read:

_Took care of your robber problem for you.  
>Do <em>_**NOT**__ call the police; get your wife out of the  
>house and I will take care of the rest.<br>Tell that auburn beauty I said hello!_

_**-J **__**=)**_

Behind him, Alicia said nothing, echoing Robert's frozen anxiety with her silence. What did the Joker want from them? To scare them? If this man laying dead before them really was a robber, as the note said, had he been left as sick proof that they wouldn't be bothered by him any longer… or as a warning?

"H-he followed us…" Alicia swallowed nervously, leaning against the wall to soothe her reeling head.

_He never stopped smiling. That was the worst part. He never stopped and that alone __**terrified her**__…_

This wasn't supposed to happen, not to her, not to her family. The police were supposed to take care of this the last time they'd reported being attacked… attacked by…

… _Those eyes, those piercing, evil eyes glancing over her through the car's window as if she were a steak; she'd felt so… so __**violated**__, so…_

"Robert, he knows where we live," Alicia whimpered.

_He made her feel like a little girl…_

Robert's heart nearly shattered with pity at seeing Alicia's frightened gaze. Oh God, this was nothing. That madman had barely _touched_ his family's life and already he was twisting them, making them too afraid even to run. It pained Robert more than any knife, yet if he tried to end it… if he tried…

"… Alicia..." Robert murmured, barely calm as he brought her once again into his arms. "Get out of the house. Anywhere, just go. I'll call the police and get this taken care of. And for God's sake, don't tell _anyone_ what happened; he could have someone working for him at the bank for all we know…"

"But Robert, what if he _knows_ already?" Alicia worried, her voice an abnormal mix of fear and uncertainty. "What if he finds me, or you and Tracy, or…"

The terror was too much for her to bear, sliding down her face in warm, wet tracks.

_Oh Lord, please no. Not my baby. __**Not my baby.**_

"Why is he _targeting us_, Robert? Why does he want _us?_"

"… I can't answer that, love," he murmured gently, brushing her waves tenderly from her face. The truth he could not tell bristled again, waiting to escape, the truth he could never tell lest he endanger them more.

_Because my hand was forced. Because he would kill you if I didn't agree. Because I have to let him for my family's sake._

"Alicia…" His arms held her close enough to feel his heartbeat, his lips brushed her ears in a soothing whisper. "Alicia, I don't think this is a threat. I don't know how he works, but I think it's a _warning_, and if that's the case, he probably does know where you work. I'm going to call the police. Get out of the house and go somewhere safe, and for God's sake do _not_ go to work…"

"Tracy's going with me then, I'm not letting her stay here," Alicia murmured. "I'm calling in sick and we're going to the museum; he wouldn't attack someplace that secure in broad daylight… would he?"

"I don't think even he's that crazy, love," Robert reassured, his stomach sinking with every false phrase he told her.

"I'm taking my cell phone with me," she added, pulling away towards the stairs. "Don't let Tracy see this. Please… And call me as soon as things clear up, understand?"

"Understood, dear," he responded, shutting the door quietly. "Be careful."

She walked quietly upstairs to the bedroom phone, and Robert slumped to the floor in despair. He should have known that lunatic would do something like this. He should have known he'd go back on his promises, unable to resist just one more taste of his family's terror, like a tiger's first taste of human blood. It was _destroying_ his new life, the madman's pervasive influence invading every aspect of it to cage his plaything named Robert. And worst of all, it was all one big _joke_ to him; the nightmare that Robert lived in _was_ his entertainment.

He could almost hear the awful laughter, mocking him, mocking them all. There was no way out of this. No way out. No way.

Warm tears slid down his face, dropping gently to the floor as he shook in fear, curled up like a frightened child. That madman was playing mind games with him, terrible mind games, and Robert knew it. He was burrowing into his prey's head like a maggot into a carcass, squirming in deeper and deeper to devour him alive. He wanted him broken, insane, defeated. There was nowhere to go from here. Nowhere but into yet another vicious trap.

And then it hit him suddenly, a thunderbolt to the brain recharging every neuron. That was his _game_. That was why he'd made the deal – he _knew_ Robert would never risk his family's life unless he was _forced to_. The clown's entire plan from the beginning was to drive him to lunacy, or at least to keep him so fearful that he'd go along with whatever the madman wanted. The robber several weeks ago, the dead man on his doorstep, Alicia, Tracy… all were pawns in his demented game of chess with the aim of breaking Robert in the most inconspicuous, agonizingly slow method possible. _All because it amused him._

The anger swept over Robert like a tsunami, washing away the fear of losing his life that plagued him since that day he'd first set foot in the strange, garish house next door. His life… if it meant keeping his family safe, losing his life would be the most worthwhile thing he'd ever done. That monster would _not_ have his family anymore.

_Never again._

He was done being a victim. He was better than that, stronger than that. He was not going to let himself become yet another tally on his neighbor's long list of lives ruined, even if defending himself now would be foolish.

Tomorrow, the mouse would face the Cheshire cat in his lair, even if it killed him.

_There is no way out… but to __**fight**__._


	7. Chapter Seven: Grievance

_A/N: And thus my Spring Break ends. :c Such a shame to part so soon... but at least there's a new chapter of The Neighborhood for everyone to read! Hooray! :D Continued thanks to all of my readers and fans who have stuck with the fic. Read, review, recommend! ^w^_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>: **Grievance  
><strong>

"You know, it is _so_ nice to have you over again," the Joker said, swirling the richly red liquid around his wine glass. Its motion continued gently, uneasy and close to spilling, hypnotic in its catastrophic potential like a brewing storm. "I do love to entertain – but you already knew that, didn't you, Robert?"

Robert shifted uncomfortably in the high-backed chair, nervously watching the swirling liquid in the clown's glass for fear of looking him in the eye. He'd entered the fiend's mockery of a home with a lion's courage, waved in not by the man himself, but by the deceptively friendly blue eyes of Harley. She'd been so eager to have him settle down in the den, saying repeatedly how it would be 'just a moment' before her lover returned, and yet even devoid of humans, the garish room sucked all bravado from the soul and replaced it with unsteady doubt. It was torture, waiting, feeling the weight of the off kilter, dead-eyed clown portraits stare down at him. Every sudden motion sent the newspaper clippings on the wall into a wave of nervous fluttering that mimicked his queasy stomach's own fluttering. The fireplace grinned at him silently with barred iron teeth, flames crackling and spitting behind them like hellfire, as if sneering at some private joke that Robert was the punch line to, a joke he feared hearing. Such was its terrible power that by the time the home's mad owner entered it, sending an ominous aura over the den like a hungry shadow, Robert couldn't help but feel doomed. And now, sitting paralyzed before the actual clown's hellspawn grin, here in this hellish mockery of a home, Robert was no longer a lion, but a pitiful, mewling kitten.

"N-nice day for a visit I thought," he stammered quietly in an attempt to keep the dragon sleeping a bit longer. "M-maybe a cookout… sunny… warm…"

"Oh, I don't grill often myself," the Joker dismissed. "Usually that's Harley's job, or one of my other… acquaintances. I myself burn _far_ too easily to spend much time in the sun. No melanin left in my skin, you know. Part of the reason I work nights. Why, the last time I tried a cookout, I ended up looking more like a _lobster_ than a clown!"

He chuckled darkly, and Robert realized that the lunatic intended this to be an expression of true amusement. Yet somehow, the Joker still didn't _quite_ hit the mark – he didn't seem amused, nor did his laughter sound anything other than strange and hollow. It was almost as if the man _couldn't_ feel true joy or amusement at anything, only a false facsimile of it. The thought of it sent a brief twinge of pity through Robert's heart. Had that been what had driven the clown to insanity? Or had he always been that way, a cynical creature incapable of feeling happiness or indeed anything at all, with whatever gave him his hideous visage causing a still further twisting of the mind?

"Robert?"

He jolted, remembering where he was now, cursing himself for allowing the madman to draw him in so easily.

_Remember who it is you deal with, Robert. Let your guard down and he'll take a mile…_

The clown smiled vaguely, the expression hollow and mirthless.

"Thought you'd fallen asleep at the wheel for a moment there," he said, kicking his bare feet onto the desk. With vague disgust, Robert noticed the lunatic's toenails held the same vile shade of green as his fingernails and hair. "You came for a reason, though, Robert, didn't you? Something besides the weather weighs on your mind. Something grave…"

He smirked at the surprised look Robert gave him, barely allowing the man to get a word in edgewise before continuing.

"Don't be so surprised," he smugly added. "It's written all over your face like chalk on a blackboard. I don't know quite _why,_ but I've always been able to read people's motives uncannily well – something about their eyes. Call it a… talent of mine. So, what's on your mind, Bobby-boy?"

Robert shuffled his feet awkwardly and stared at his hands. The Joker knew. He surely knew, and was merely biding his time, teasing Robert with the knowledge and refusing answers, taking control of the situation as he always did. He could feel the air around the madman, thick with derision, silently picking at his confidence. Or was that simply guilt eating at him?

He looked up at the sick jester before him, nervous eyes cautiously scanning patient, waiting green ones. There was no choice now. If he wanted his life back, he had to take a stand now. If he didn't, he would stay trapped under the clown's thumb forever, forced to do _his _bidding. Enslaved by his own fear and impotency.

"… I can't do it anymore," Robert thought aloud, eyes breaking to stare nervously at the floor. "I can't…"

"Can't do what, Robert?" the Joker asked, a perplexed look giving his face a bizarrely humorous cast. The wine in his glass went still. "I don't _recall_ ever asking for any favors save secrecy and use of your tools every so often… In fact, I've never asked you to do anything _but_ that at all… have I? I do forget sometimes… Oh, your saw's in the back, by the by. Harley's cleaning it now. I got a bit carried away with my project, you see, and –"

"I know what you're doing," Robert interrupted.

"… I beg your pardon?"

"You've been doing it this whole time. You've been using me and trying to break my family to pieces. Don't pretend you aren't."

The Joker blinked in confusion.

"Robert, are you sure you're alright?" he asked, sipping at his wine. The expression on his face looked almost… _worried._ "I'm not the best indicator of mental health myself if you catch my drift, but if you need the help I know _just_ the place…"

"I don't need any help," Robert snapped, stiffening. "Especially not yours. I won't cover for you anymore; it's hurting my family and ruining my life. I'm not putting my sanity and family at stake for you, I haven't slept in weeks because of this… Just… I… I_ have to stop."_

Robert had never, not in the 32 years he'd lived, seen _anyone_ do a literal spit take before. But that was exactly what the Joker did, coughing with half-aspirated alcohol, staring wide-eyed and flabbergasted at the man as if told he were dying from some horrible, untreatable disease.

"You… you'd really… _what?_" the harlequin stammered, his voice hushed and incredulous. "You'd… _what?_" If Robert didn't know any better, he'd have said the fool's neon eyes held a look of vague, swirling panic. The same panic that swirled in his own with every encounter he had with the madman. The same panic…

And then, pulling out a silk handkerchief and dabbing at the red wine dripping from his chin, the Joker regained his composure suddenly and completely, as if all were normal and Robert had merely requested the weather. As if it were simply, and always had been, a joke.

"… Well I suppose, if you insist," he murmured, eyes strangely feverish in his otherwise calm face.

"I-I do… I have to," Robert responded tensely. "And before you ask, I didn't tell a soul about you before I came here. I promised I wouldn't and I won't now. I swear. How stupid would _that_ be?"

"Oh, very," the madman replied, acidic eyes scrutinizing Robert with uneasy suspicion. "Though that doesn't mean a thing. But of course, you won't tell. Dead men don't speak."

The handkerchief fell from his pallid hand, revealing a handgun, cocked to kill and pointed between Robert's eyes.

Robert's heart tumbled into his stomach.

"You have one more chance to change your mind," the Joker threatened, "Before I splatter it all over the walls. Poor, beautiful Alicia and your little girl… We wouldn't want them to end up fatherless, would we?"

A nasty grin slid over the lunatic's features, and Robert froze. He'd known the Joker would be angry, but never had he imagined he'd be angry enough to _kill him_ over it – though in retrospect, he should have known. This was stupid; this whole idea was dangerous and stupid. There was no way Robert could outrun a bullet, and somehow he was sure that the Joker _wouldn't_ miss… But if he died now… his family could be safe. They'd never know about Robert's deal with the laughing devil; they'd only know that the Joker had shot and killed him.

Robert steeled his gaze and stood from the chair defiantly. He didn't want to die. Not here, not like this. But if he backed down now, the Joker would win and his family would remain in danger. God, he didn't want to die…

_But if it keeps them safe…_

"I don't care," Robert murmured lowly, bracing himself for the bullet's hot sting…

It never came. What did was an uproarious riot that Robert instantly recognized as the Joker's cackling laughter, followed by the soft sound of the gun swishing into a jacket pocket.

"Oh, that's… that's _cold_, Robert!" the fool giggled, as if laughing at some immature prank or another. "That's just _terrible_. 'I don't care.' Even_ I_ wouldn't have said… okay, well maybe I _would _have said that, but very well, as you wish…"

Robert couldn't believe his luck. It had actually _worked?_ He… was he actually going to live _just_ because he stood up to the man? It couldn't be. It was too much like the Aesop's Fables he'd read as a child. This didn't really happen, there had to be a catch. But there appeared to be none as the clown set about bringing another wine glass onto the desk, filling it with a luscious looking deep red-purple wine.

"The charade is over, such a shame there's no applause," he murmured jovially, "But we can always talk, can't we? There's _always_ camaraderie after a show ends… Here you go."

He placed the glass of wine before Robert and settled back into his chair. Robert peered at the alcoholic beverage with slight suspicion. Why was the clown being so polite to him now, when mere moments ago he was about to kill him?

"What is it?" Robert asked, wary of the harlequin's actions. No matter _how_ amiably he acted, his host was still and always would be a cold-blooded killer…

"A merlot," the Joker responded, sipping at his own glass. "Quite a good merlot, too. Try it if you don't believe me! I'd drink all of it myself, but… well; you _really_ don't want to see _me_ drunk."

"Why?" Robert prodded, attempting to keep his absurd host semi-entertained. "Are you bad with liquor?"

"Oh no, I'm actually nearly immune to its effects," he said, leaning back comfortably in the chair. "Am to most things, actually. It can take well around three bottles to get me well and truly hammered, but when I do…"

" You're a mean drunk?" Robert finished, sipping the wine. It was dry, flavorful, slightly tangy on the tongue.

The Joker chuckled darkly.

"You might say that, yes," he responded, beginning to once more swirl the beverage around his glass. "I certainly can be… Enjoying the wine, I take it?"

"Yes," Robert replied truthfully, taking another sip.

"Ah, good, I was afraid you may not like it," the clown said. "Not everyone likes red wines, particularly dry ones. Incidentally, are you aware that ethanol is the only alcohol a human being can ingest without too many ill effects? Besides the occasional hangover, I mean."

"No, I wasn't aware," Robert answered in interest, relaxing as the alcohol coursed through his system in a pleasant buzz. He'd never taken a chemistry class beyond what was required of him in college, anything beyond a basic level was a mystery to him.

"It's the truth," the Joker asserted. "Ethyl alcohol. Add a carbon and you get either the much more potent propanol or rubbing alcohol, depending where you add it. Remove one, and you end up with the _incredibly_ toxic methanol, causes blindness… Say, you look a tad drowsy, Robert, are you alright?"

He wasn't. Robert's vision was starting to swim oddly, the room around him tilted. Strange – normally he could handle around two glasses or so before he started feeling tipsy… What was going on? He could barely muster the energy to think, let alone speak…

"N-no," he murmured, vision blurring. "I'm n-not okay…"

"No, indeed…" The Joker's face twisted from concern to a chilling smile. "Then again, I don't usually react to ethanol so strongly… or to most _sedatives_ so strongly, either. I must have forgotten that _you_ don't share my immunities… clumsy me!"

Robert's stomach churned in nausea, his vision grew dim. He wanted to run, he wanted nothing more than to escape before the drug took him under. But his legs had turned to jelly, and his hands felt like lead… It was as if he'd been encased and preserved in a quick-numbing ice, frozen where he sat, his consciousness rapidly declining. What truly chilled his soul, however, wasn't the drug or the paralysis it caused. It was the simple fact that he was _trapped_, ensnared by the madman, unable to escape, and completely at his mercy, unable even to cry for help.

His heart quivered in sickly terror at the very thought.

The Joker leaned in horribly close, terrifyingly close, a wide, evil grin splitting his ashen face like a terrible fissure.

"Oh, Robert…" he chided, eyes gleaming feverishly. "I'm just _so sorry_ about all this… A pity you didn't take my etiquette lesson to heart. I do distinctly remember telling you that I _never_ poison my guests on the _first_ meeting…"

The laughter chilled Robert again. The terrible laughter, the awful, cackling laughter of triumph, a final memory left with him before his consciousness lost its grip and slid into darkness.

* * *

><p>It was the voice of an angel that woke him.<p>

"Robert… _up…_"

_Am I dead?_ He thought vaguely, eyes seeing naught but darkness around him. _What happened? Where am I? Is this Heaven?_

"Please… up, Robert… Get up… scared… _Get up…_"

The sweet, familiar voice echoed through Robert's fuzzy mind, buzzing wasp-like and insistent. It was scared, hushed with fear and slight mourning, almost a faint whisper of words…

"Robert, _please_ get up… Oh God, _please_ wake up,_ please_ be alive, _please…_"

_Alicia…_

Another noise, the soft whimpering of a frightened child, rippled through the foggy darkness, only to be hushed by a half-joking _shh_.

_Tracy…_

His throat felt so dry, his limbs felt icy numb with paralysis. Where was he? Where were Alicia and Tracy, and why were they so afraid? What had happened to him?

Robert's eyelids fluttered open wearily, eyes glancing about in vague confusion, a blur of shapes becoming clearer as his irises readjusted.

… His house. _His_ house, not the clown's. He recognized the slight crack in the bedroom ceiling, the blue paint at the walls' peripheries, the feel of the plush tan carpet. He was at home, lying on the floor. Safe?

Alicia's shadowy figure hovered just out of the corner of his eye, her face marred by deep terror, eyes blackened from the smeared mascara running down her cheeks in inky rivulets. Another slighter, taller figure stood behind her, clinging to her parasitically, a pale and vague smudge of white in the otherwise dark bedroom. Who…?

The image sharpened as he flicked his eyes towards the white smudge. And then recognition hit him with a terrible blow to the gut. _Him._

_Oh God, __**please**__ not him…_

The truth before Robert's eyes refused to change. It _was_ him, holding her with a perverse closeness, _his_ bone-white spider's fingers trailing tenderly through her gentle auburn waves, _his_ long arms clasped like dark, iron chains around her curves in a darkly lewd gesture, hand mockingly resting on the small of her back, murmuring no doubt sick, warped things into her ear.

A heavy and severe nausea welled in Robert's stomach. God no. Please no. He couldn't _have_ something so beautiful and perfect; he'd _destroy it._ He'd _kill her_, he'd… he'd…

"Shh, it's alright, dear," the Joker giggled softly as he pulled Alicia still closer despite her protesting struggles. "Such a pretty little thing you are. You know, darling, if your husband _never wakes up_, I'd be _more_ than happy to take his place…"

"Get _off of me,_" Alicia hissed, struggling to hide her terror and disgust well within a veil of anger. "Sick _freak_."

"But it'd be so romantic, though!" the lunatic chirped, his grip tightening painfully on Alicia's waist as she cried out in discomfort. "We could get married at the Cathedral, I could kidnap a priest and a few flower girls, Harley could be a bridesmaid, and when all's said and done we could slaughter them all and go dancing on top of the building, with only the pale moonlight to guide us… Say, didn't I already do that once before? I do forget things sometimes… I can't help it; you're just _so_ _radiant_ up close…"

"Hey!" Harley sharply barked from somewhere in the room.

"_Quiet,_ Harley, I'm not talking to you!" He snapped back. "Besides, you're not a ginger, and I _do_ love red-headed women…"

"Well find someone _else then,_" Alicia spat, pulling desperately despite his adamant hold. "_Monster._ Let go of me!"

"Yanno, bitch, he likes ta use that same line on me," Harley pouted, her tone acetic.

"Harley, I said _shut up!_" the Joker responded, turning his gaze back to Alicia. "And _you_ need to stop trying to run from me, it's annoying, inconvenient, and rude."

And then, an awful sound met Robert's ears. A soft, sharp noise rustled the air, the sound of a blade sliding out of its sheath. Alicia suddenly went very, _very _quiet, clamping her eyes shut in fear. She couldn't panic now, not now, she had to stay calm for Tracy's sake.

She began counting, counting the horses to calm herself down, as if she were a little girl again, sitting paralyzed in the dark of her bedroom. Counting all the pretty horses in the herd, four, eight, twelve, sixteen…

"… D-don't…" Robert weakly pleaded, his voice suddenly returning to him. "P-please…"

The Joker's head snapped up instantaneously, a feral grin marring his face, hand clenched in an iron grasp about the hunting knife's handle as the blade rested against the fear-paled flesh of Alicia's neck.

"Oh, Harley dear, look!" He pointed a bony finger at Robert as if pointing at a caged animal. "Our friend's awake now! Looks like he _didn't_ die after all…" His grasp on Alicia tightened, pressing her shaking form still closer against his. "A pity, I was _so_ hoping to dance with you, my dear…"

Harley's motley-clad face flashed into Robert's line of sight cheerfully as she stared down at him. A tiny figure squirmed in her arms, whimpering softly. Tracy…

"Ooh, g'mawnin', Mistah Cleahwatah!" she said, grinning. "I knew ya weren't dead. Took yer pulse earliah!"

"L-let them go…" Robert murmured softly, eyes pleading. _"Please…"_

Soft footsteps began towards him, slightly bouncy in their stride, and the Joker's sneering face slid into his view, peering at him in disgust as if he were an insect.

"Oh?" the Joker murmured nonchalantly back. "And just why_ should I_ let them go, hmm? They're of no consequence here; it makes no difference to me if they live or die. I got what I wanted either way. Besides, _you_ were the one that quit on _me_, Robert, so you see;_ I_ no longer have any obligation to you _or_ to your little family…"

A soft click from Harley's side caught Robert's attention. A gun had found its way into her hand, its barrel pressed against…

_Oh no. No no no…_

Tracy whimpered and struggled as the cold metal mercilessly slid against her scalp.

Robert's blood became ice.

_His little girl._

"No…" he whispered in horror, a conspicuous, awful lump forming in his throat. "No, _please_ don't…"

"I honestly have no idea _why_ you wanted to end it, Robert," the Joker murmured somberly, almost sadly, as if speaking at a man's funeral. His feverish, wild eyes pitilessly watched Tracy squirm in Harley's arms. "It's not as if I was even _planning_ on hurting you, after all. Why, I haven't done a _single_ nasty thing or said a single unkind word towards you since you took up my offer except for a few threats here and there, but even those were well founded… In fact, I've _saved_ your sorry ass on more than one occasion. I didn't _have_ to do that, Robert. In fact, I could easily have sat back and watched the carnage unfold, but you were just _too important to lose._ And you repay me by _backing out at the last moment?_ Not even _I_ would do that, Robert, and I'm _such_ a lunatic that they lock me in an _insane asylum_."

"Had to keep my family safe…" Robert murmured. "Couldn't _lie_ anymore…"

"But you _can_ play games and leave as soon as things get just the _slightest_ _bit_ too difficult for you," the Joker replied bitterly. "Congratulations, Robert, you're the most cowardly man I've ever met. Tell me, does your _wife_ let you get away with that? Do you let your _daughter_ get away with breaking _her_ promises?"

He had a point, and Robert knew it. The thing asked of him… he should have said no at the beginning. It was all his fault he was in this mess, all his fault that his family was in danger now. But how could he have read the madman's true intentions? How…?

Robert's head dropped to the floor. No. This was just another twisting of words, just another attempt by the madman to disregard Robert before he killed him. But still, there was an almost righteous anger in the fool's voice, a bitter note that, if Robert didn't know any better, sounded like he truly felt… _betrayed._

"No?" the clown answered for him. "You _don't_ let them do that?" A sick grin crossed his face, spreading disease-like across his sharp features. "Then give me one good reason why I _shouldn't_ have Harley shoot your daughter as retribution. I never liked the little brat anyway..."

"Don't you _dare hurt her!"_ Alicia shrieked, struggling so wildly the Joker could barely retain his grip despite the knife at her throat. "I swear to _God,_ if you hurt her…"

"God's not here, I'm afraid," the Joker replied, pressing the edge of the blade against the side of her neck. A thin trickle of blood slid down her collarbone, a red wine stain on porcelain trailing after the blade's slow, glacial path to her shoulder joint. "Only you and I."

With a quick twist, the knife pierced through Alicia's shoulder, his wrist wrenching the blade inside of the wound. Alicia shrieked as the blade rent through her flesh, the pain so intense it made her want to vomit.

"Shoot the whelp, Harley," the Joker added gleefully, his eyes glowing with a terrible, joyful spark as they watched the blood ooze from the wound in Alicia's shoulder like sap from a wounded tree. As if on cue, a gun went off, followed by Tracy's pained screaming as the bullet tore mercilessly into the flesh of her leg.

"Stop it!" Robert cried in horror, sitting up abruptly. His head swam with anger, his stomach churned ill with fear. "_Tracy!_ _Alicia!_"

His sedation-weakened muscles instantly failed him as he tried to climb to his feet, limbs seeming as jelly on toast. Back to the floor he slumped, like a ragdoll, able only to watch in horrified fascination as the disturbed pair of clowns tortured his wife and daughter. Tracy sobbed wildly, clinging to her leg. Blood trickled from the bullet wound there as she squirmed and whimpered in Harley's unforgiving arms.

"Mommy, it hurts!" she wailed. "It _hurts!_"

It was no use now, Robert thought, eyes shifting from Tracy to Alicia, Harley to Joker and back. They… they were all going to die. He and his whole family were going to die, and it was all his fault. All because he was too afraid to say no. All because he didn't know what else to do.

All for a _joke._

"Whoopsie!" the Joker's voice sneered. "Lose your balance there, Bobby-boy? That _is_ a very common problem with sedatives, particularly with _barbiturates_…"

His awkward frame kneeled next to the fallen man, pulling the whimpering Alicia to the floor and pinning her there. His venomous eyes watched Robert's predicament with amusement, a sick smile never leaving his features. From here, thought Robert, his teeth looked like those of a shark preparing to swallow him whole, devour him, throw him into madness, into a hell from which there was no escape, one worse than before. He felt like a fool. Had he actually thought that he could end this nightmare by _running away_ from a man who went to horrible lengths to keep his targets well within his sights?

"I bet you're really wishing you'd never tried to escape right now, _aren't you?_" The Joker's depraved smile widened into a twisted grin. "And now it's _your_ fault we're all in this awful mess, isn't it? I _tried_ to warn you…"

"Dat's whatcha _get_ faw messin' with my Mistah J!" Harley added curtly.

"D-don't kill them…" Robert whimpered, his head reeling with his stomach. "Y-you're right, it's my fault… Please, s-shoot me instead… I _beg you_…"

"Nope, nope, too late for that!" the Joker cried, further twisting the knife in Alicia's shoulder to her screaming. "Harley, would you _shut that snot-nosed brat of his up_ or get it out of here? It's been crying for the past three minutes and I can't enjoy myself with it screeching like that."

"Gotcha!" Harley responded, aiming the gun at the child's head now. "Ready when you are, Puddin'…"

If the Joker heard her, he didn't acknowledge it, eyes still fixed on Robert's own horrified gaze.

"Alrighty, Robbie," he said, pulling a squirming Alicia to the floor and pinning her. "I'll give you a choice. Either _she's_ first –" he nodded at Tracy, whimpering painfully in Harley's grasp, "Or _she's_ first." He painfully twisted a wavy auburn lock of Alicia's hair around his finger; his toxic eyes continued to burn into Robert's.

"You won't get away with this," Alicia whimpered painfully, trying to pull herself from his hold. But the Joker was deceptively, terrifyingly strong for how frail he looked, painfully strong, and his talon-like grip on her arms grew ever tighter, ever more painful, sickeningly green nails digging into her skin to draw beads of red…

"Shh, shh dear," he murmured, the fingers of his free hand trailing the curves of her face, his blood red lips inches from her ear. "The more you do _that_, the more likely you are to die _first._ After all, it was _Robert_ who broke the deal, not me…"

"What deal?" she asked, cringing away from his words as if they were hot steam. The confusion in her voice was clear. "Robert, what does he mean, you broke 'the deal'?"

"Yes, Robert, tell her what you've been _hiding from her_…" the madman jeered. "You said you couldn't _lie_ to her anymore. Tell her why you _lied._"

Somehow, Robert managed to pull himself to his knees, a small bit of strength returning to his shaking arms and legs that threatened to buckle beneath him. Yet even the effort of that small task made the world around him spin terribly, reminding him of the Gravity Wheels at the carnivals he'd been to as a little boy. Both Alicia and the Joker stared at him unerringly, one awaiting the explanation, the other awaiting the show.

"Alicia…" he sighed softly, eyes closing from the dizzy chaos around him, "He's our neighbor. They both are. I _couldn't_ tell you or anyone else, he said if I did… he said he'd k- …"

Robert stopped short, choking on the word. It was such a dark word, so heartrending, so permanent; so… _final_. It was a word he couldn't bear to say, a word he was almost afraid to say.

"H-he's…" Alicia swallowed nervously, staring up at the grinning lunatic pinning her to the floor, her eyes widening in horror as he turned to leer down at her predatorily. "He's our…? Oh, God… Oh my _God_. Robert…"

"I sure am, darling," the Joker all but hissed at her. "In the flesh. Why, does that _scare you?_ Crime and chaos _is_ the city. Unfortunately, this city belongs to _me,_ and I count the suburbs…"

"Alicia, I'm so sorry… I didn't have any choice," Robert continued, eyes opening to stare at the carpeted floor. "He would have killed us all anyway if I didn't agree. I just wanted to keep you safe… I just wanted you and Tracy _safe_, but I couldn't bear to hide things from you anymore. I can't lie to you… He's right. I backed out at the last minute because I couldn't handle it anymore. I felt like his _plaything…_ Dear God, I'm so sorry…"

His tears fell to the floor, little spots of wetness soaking into the fibers of the tan carpet, the first few spasms of a sob racking his body as his tongue suddenly refused to speak.

"Robert…" Her frightened voice grew soft and comforting. "Robert… I'd have done the same thing. I understand… Your actions before, how nervous you've been lately… it all makes sense now. I'd do anything to protect Tracy and you, you know that…"

"But Alicia, I _failed_," Robert murmured dejectedly. "I _put_ you in danger. You've been in danger this whole time and I was _too scared_ to say anything… it's all my fault…"

"Don't say that, Robert, it's not your –"

"Oh, would you two just _shut up?_" snapped _his_ sneering voice impatiently. "_Oh, poor me, I ruin everything! It's not your fault; it's mine, wah wah wah!_ Christ, you're so sickeningly sweet you give _sugar_ a toothache! Hurry up and finish already so I can kill you and go do better things."

His hand ripped the knife from Alicia's shoulder painfully, the blade finding its place against her neck once more. Alicia shut her eyes, bracing herself for the killing blow. And all Robert could do was watch as everything fell to pieces.

"Robert…" she murmured, voice thick with fear. "Don't blame yourself… I… I love you, Robert…"

"I love you too," he whispered, the tears in his eyes blurring his sight.

"Jiminy Crickets, you two _really_ have a thing for running your mouths, don't you?" the Joker muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Are you quite done? Yes? All of our last words said and over with? Good, now hold still, this won't hurt a bit…"

A sound of metal against metal suddenly clanged against Robert's ears, and the knife flew from the madman's hand to land harmlessly on the floor several feet away. Harley gasped in vague terror, the gun sliding from her grasp to the floor harmlessly. And the Joker, so animated before, so alive with frenetic, over-dramatic motion, was still, entirely still, an absurd statue; the air around him held an aura of excited knowing.

His head snapped towards the shadows beyond, near the now open window and the billowing curtains surrounding it, eyes transfixed implacably on something unseen there. A small, hopeful smile slid across his face; an almost eerie calmness settled about him. _Hello?_ that look said, eyes flicking back and forth in a feverish search. _Is it you? Are you there?_

A shadow somewhere amongst the drapes flickered in motion just briefly, as if in reply to the clown's searing gaze. _I am here…_

And slowly, the Joker's mouth crept into a broad, eager, unending grin, eyes sparkling with delight.

"You want last words, Joker?" the darkness asked, its voice grim, deep, imposing. "Here's one. It's over."

"Oh, that was two," the Joker teased, sounding nearly ecstatic, his voice escalating in pitch with manic glee. "That was _two words,_ darling…"

The shadow said nothing and once again stirred, gliding forth from the dark, unmistakable in form and identity. There were only so many men dressed as _bats_ in Gotham City, after all…

"I missed you, Batsy," the Joker whispered with an intense reverence, his voice almost shaking with excitement.

The words hung tensely between Bat and Clown, frozen there for the briefest instant, and the rest of the world went still.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Neighborhood Watch

_A/N: Oh man, guys, I'm almost sort of depressed. There's only a lone chapter of The Neighborhood left to go up, which means this story's almost finished! Two complete years of my life, and nearly two months for you StoryAlerters, reviewers, fans, and friends. Ah well. The world keeps spinning, new story ideas continue to bubble to the surface of my brain, like hydrogen gas from zinc and hydrochloric acid. Some of those stories will rot, explode, dry up, wither, and die. Others will sweeten, ripen, esterify with time. And now I'm becoming overly poetic and flowery, and it's not even the end yet. Enjoy the chapter, all. :3_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: The Neighborhood Watch<strong>

"Let them go, Joker, I'm not asking again."

Robert stared at the Dark Knight in silent astonishment. It was as if every story he had ever heard about the legendary figure had come suddenly and vividly to life before his eyes, ideas made real, myths and legends made fact. Every inch of the man was powerful and awe-inspiring. His sable-grey armored suit (for there was no other word that adequately described what he wore) bore the smooth matte finish of the surrounding shadow, yet here and there across the surface arose scars, areas of such abuse that even a fresh coat of burnished black paint couldn't cover them; areas scraped away and beaten in. His long black cape adorned his shoulders wing-like, tears rending the fabric here and there, testaments to the heat of battle. Clearly, for him, it had been a busy night. The night flyer's emblem on his broad, muscular chest seemed to shine like a beacon; his determined ice blue gaze blazed with something indomitable and resolute. Yet they bore something else, too, something… darker, something almost sad. Particularly as he looked to Tracy, sobbing and squirming in the arms of a madwoman.

A quick glance at Alicia noted that she shared Robert's breathless shock, but the Batman's appearance clearly made Tracy very nervous. She was afraid of the dark. How could Robert tell her that the dark was here to save them all this time?

The Batman's gaze flicked from Harley, trembling where she stood in nervous determination, to the Joker, eyes locking the madman's, and then hardening suddenly. _No,_ it said, _I will not let this happen to another._

"I said let them go," he threatened, "You will let that child_ go_."

"You're late, Bats," the Joker replied flatly, pouting, almost… disappointedly. "You're _always_ late. I was expecting you _at least_ fifteen minutes ago. Why aren't you _ever_ on time for our play dates? Hell, I've almost given up on forming a _relationship_ with you, Bat-brute."

The madman tossed Alicia aside haphazardly, stepping confidently closer to the Dark Knight as if he were nothing more than a kitten for him to kick.

The Batman didn't blink.

"I shouldn't be surprised, though, really," the Joker spat bitterly, getting imposingly close to the Batman, nearly eye to eye with him. "You ruin _everything._ It certainly wouldn't be the _first time_ you've left me standing at the altar or the last time you crashed my party. You weren't even _invited_ to that last one!"

Robert's brow crinkled with confusion. What on earth did the lunatic think he was doing? Was he trying to get the Batman angry with him? His eyes flicked to Harley, standing in the corner looking lost and a bit scared, then back to the brewing storm between the Joker and the Batman, and suddenly, his mind lit with a realization.

_Of course, Robert,_ he thought. _Of course. The Batman. The Joker is __**obsessed**__ with him. So if I can just get Harley distracted…_

Robert glanced at Alicia, gently nursing her wounded, bleeding arm.

"_Alicia…"_ he whispered sharply, and her eyes met his gaze as he nodded towards Harley and Tracy.

Instantly, Alicia understood. _Create a distraction…_

Letting her wounded arm drop to her side, Alicia pulled off a single white tennis shoe, hiding her motions so as not to let onto what she was doing. She had a clear shot at Harley's head from here, but she only had one. If she didn't hit her now, she'd get them all in even worse trouble.

It was a risk she had no choice but to take. With her body slowly losing strength from blood loss, Alicia pulled back and threw the shoe at Harley with all of her might. It arced through the air, tracing a broad, white parabola that collided roughly with the jester's red and black head, the latter giving a squeak of annoyance and mild pain.

"Hey!" Harley protested, dropping Tracy as she turned to glare at Alicia with an ice-melting intensity. "What'd ya do _that_ foah!"

"_Keep your hands off of my daughter, bitch,_" Alicia growled, kicking off her other shoe.

"'_Scuse me?_" The acid in the jester's words sizzled in the air around her as she started towards Alicia, her mind on one thing only. "_What_ didja jes' _call me?_"

"I called you a _bitch_, what are you, deaf?" Alicia hissed back, the remaining shoe held back in preparation to launch it. "Dumb _clown whore._ No _wonder_ your sick bastard of a man would rather have _me_ and not _you_."

"_Don' call Mista J a bastahd!"_ Harley shrieked, slamming into Alicia at an astonishing speed and with incredible precision.

Alicia flew to the ground with the force of the impact, locking the two women in fierce battle upon the carpeted bedroom floor. Nails tore faces; punches slammed into eye sockets and the sensitive cargo within. Harley's gun lay forgotten on the floor, both her and Alicia far too preoccupied with the other to care.

Tracy limped, crying, downstairs. This was too much for her. Her leg hurt so, so bad. Why was there a big scary man yelling at mean Uncle Jay? Why was mommy fighting with the mean clown lady? She hadn't been this scared since she saw that scary mask at the store on Halloween and had nightmares about it. Sniffling, Tracy curled up under the living room couch, too scared to move, whimpering quietly.

Meanwhile, the Joker and the Batman both had apparently noticed the brawl occurring between the two women, the former grinning wildly as he watched; the latter saying nothing.

"Ooh look, Batsy, a catfight!" the Joker chirped, watching with manic glee as Harley clawed at Alicia's face viciously. "Atta girl, get her! You know, I _do_ so love it when women _fight over me_…" He idly draped an arm over the Batman's shoulders in a mocking display of friendship. "Don't you, Ba- ?"

He never finished his question. Sensing the opportunity, the Batman launched a swift, hard punch to the madman's nose, sending his foe staggering back as he clutched at his face in pain and surprise.

The Joker pried his hands from his face, slowly regaining his balance. A surprising amount of blood smeared his hands; he could feel a thin trickle of the red, viscous liquid snake from his nose to pool in his smile lines.

"_Abusive whore!_" he screeched, faking a pout as the Batman slowly, unflinchingly strode closer. "But you know I love you for it. You know I'll _always_ take it from _you_ and then come crawling back for more, don't you? _I_ know it doesn't matter; I'll just end up bruised and bleeding _again_ and _again_. Does it make you _feel good_ to hit me, and for a slight like this? One man and his family, _that's all?_"

"Yes," the Batman replied, pushing the lunatic against the wall and pinning him there. "For one man and his family."

"But _why though?_" the clown prodded, squirming. "You never give me a straight answer. Never. I've _personally kidnapped and driven insane_ people more important, you know that. Why bother with _a single family_ that nobody else cares about?"

"Because_ I_ do."

"Well _duh,_ Bats, no-brainer! Of course, _you_ do; you _always do._ And yet you can't save them all… You do know that, right, that you can't save all of them from me? Don't you _ever_ tire of the _banality_ of it all? The futility?"

The Batman smirked vaguely, eyes glittering in an almost friendly way under all of the steel he projected.

"No," he murmured softly, voice as serious as ever. "Don't you?"

The Joker's eyes suddenly blazed with a mad rage, vengeful and terrifying in its intensity. And Robert knew why – because the Batman was _laughing at him._ The Joker had been made into the one thing he made others into, a joke… and it _infuriated him…_

"No," the Joker responded sharply, his words tipped with caustic venom. "No, of course not, because _you never do…_"

The Batman's eyes flicked suddenly to Robert's, just for a second, before his archenemy launched at him in a violet and emerald blur, sending him to the floor. But even without words, Robert instantly understood his message. _Leave,_ that intimidating gaze commanded. _Leave now while I have him distracted…_

Robert's gaze shifted to Alicia as he pulled himself to his feet. Alicia… he couldn't just leave her here, not like this. She was holding her own, almost better – she currently had Harley pinned to the floor, beaten every bit as badly as she was, but still… still, he couldn't just leave her here with two lunatics…

_Batman will keep her safe,_ said the voice of logic in the back of his mind.

_She needs you,_ whispered his unspoken fear in the forefront.

_Alicia…_

"Robert, just _go!_" she cried in disbelief, staring at him urgently, and that momentary lapse was all the time Harley needed to cold-clock Alicia _hard_, hitting her square in the side of the head with her elbow and sending Alicia rocketing into the nearby desk head-first. Alicia's entire body went ragdoll limp, her body collapsing marionette-like to the floor to lie there motionless and unconscious.

"Alicia!" Robert cried, horrified as he ran to her. "Alicia, no! Get up, please…"

"Yeah, _now_ who's da bitch?" Harley spat, pulling her battered, bloody form to her feet, motley torn in several places from Alicia's sharp nails. "Mista J, ya wants I should tie her up?"

But the Joker paid her no attention, his focus captured irresistibly by his nemesis, laughter escalating in delirious joy as if he'd never been happier in his life. His spidery, bony fingers already eagerly encircled the Batman's armored neck in a vicegrip, verdant nails scraping terribly against the armor; the caped crusader in question roughly dug his thumbs into the hollows of the clown's shoulders in an effort to force him to abandon his relentless grasp.

"Ugh, typical men," Harley muttered, spitting out a blood clot. "Dey neva wanna listen to a thing ya have ta say…"

Robert glanced up at her from the prone form of his wife, fury slowly overwhelming his common sense. How _dare_ such a tainted soul even so much as _touch_ her perfection, all to harm him?

"_You hurt my wife!_" Robert yelled, anger staining his voice like a hideous dye. He tackled Harley roughly to the ground, throwing hard punches at her face, whether he hit her or not, he didn't know…

"Robert, don't!" arose a grim voice in alarm, the Batman's voice, as he finally disentangled himself from the insane clown's choking grasp. "She's too dangerous, _leave!_ I'll take care of –"

His words were cut off suddenly by a hard blow to his jawbone from the handle of a knife, the blade flashing in the meager moonlight illuminating the windows from outside. The blow returned to its sender just before the Joker could arc his arm to slash at his foe's face.

Robert grabbed Alicia and ran, tearing down the stairs to the living room.

"_Hey, no fair!_" Harley screeched, pulling herself to her feet wearily and chasing them with surprising agility for her injuries. She never made it downstairs, collapsing from pain and weakness at the top of the stairwell.

The Joker seemingly began to gain an interest in her actions, if only for a second.

"Harley, what are you _doing?_ Don't let them –"

The Batman forcefully threw him against the wall, following up with a rough jab to the chest that knocked the air from his enemy's lungs. The Joker staggered back, harsh green eyes drifting upwards towards the sable-clad man as he was pinned to the floor, pallid flesh seeming to glow in contrast to the black and grey armor.

"_A-always_ going where you don't b-belong, aren't you, darling?" he teased softly, pulling his split, bleeding red lips into a grimace.

"_Why_ are you going after a random family, Joker?" the Batman prodded, eyes narrowing in confusion. "This isn't _like you._ This isn't _grandiose_ enough for you. Why are you downplaying yourself, unless…?"

The answer sparked in the vigilante's mind as soon as he had asked the question. Of course. The Joker had been _hiding_ all this time. Hiding so he could plan worse yet crimes, hiding so he could operate his mad schemes in relative anonymity. The people living in this otherwise quiet suburb had no idea they were living in the same vicinity as an escaped madman, despite Arkham Asylum being a mere fifteen miles away from here. Of course, he'd eventually _have_ to show himself. He always did, sooner or later. The Joker couldn't tolerate being out of the spotlight for long…

The Joker gave a harsh wheeze of a giggle, half of his breath gone from the Dark Knight's assault.

"You… y-you t-thought I targeted them for _no reason,_ didn't you?" he cackled, and it escalated to a roar. "Spare me, Bats, you're not _that_ stupid, or that naive. Not you. You know me better than that."

"You've killed innocents before, including families," the vigilante pointed out. "You've done it before to prove some twisted point or another. This man did _nothing_ to you, and you even said yourself that he was insignificant. The only thing he _did_ do was get in your way."

"He d-didn't even do that," the Joker protested, coughing. "I could have lived here forever unnoticed, but he just _had_ to disrupt my privacy. He got _curious_. He wanted to know, so I merely _let him know_. And he didn't like what he saw." A soft chuckle. "I gave him a choice. Either die, or keep my existence a secret. I asked nothing of him, I demanded nothing except a cup of sugar here or there… and he _stabbed me in the back for it._ _That's_ when it became personal, love; it wasn't a part of any grand attack on _my part._"

"Personal?" the Dark Knight repeated, aware of how stupid it made him sound. "Why should I believe that? How do I know you're not lying to me, again?"

The Joker smiled as if he were a teacher speaking with the slowest child in the classroom.

"Yes, sweetie, _personal,_" he chided. "What, just because I'm out of it, I'm not allowed to be offended? As for lying… well, you don't _know_ I'm not. That's part of the fun. But if you want the truth, go ask Bobby-boy; he'll say the same exact thing… and I _didn't_ tell him to say it. All I ever asked him to do was ignore my presence, and in return I'd mostly leave them be."

"And he backed out of the deal," the Batman added, the story slowly coming together in his mind. "He was too scared to continue _lying_ for you, and _you_ took his terminating the forced 'contract' as an insult."

"No," the madman denied, looking almost insulted. "No, no… He didn't end the deal itself, he just suddenly went back on _his_ end of the deal. So in return, I simply revoked _my_ end of it. All very rational, you see; surely any sane man would have done the same in an effort to protect himself."

"Of course. Any sane man would have forced a man into a dangerous contract and then threatened them with death when they chose to break it. To 'protect themselves' from danger."

"You see? A _perfectly_ reasonable response to danger."

"You stabbed a woman in the shoulder, had your partner shoot a child, and were going to murder a man's family in front of him before killing him yourself, all over a perceived sleight," the Batman replied. "I'd hardly call _that_ reasonable."

"And _I'd_ hardly call dressing up like a giant bat and running around Gotham at night jumping off of tall buildings reasonable," the Joker retorted. "Beware the cinder in your _own_ eye, love."

"If anything's a cinder in my eye, Joker, it's you," was the Batman's annoyed response.

"And just what makes you think that, simply because you step in, I won't_ track_ this silly little man and his silly little family, hmm?" the lunatic challenged. "I easily could. You _know_ I could. Even from inside of Arkham's walls, I can track them anywhere they choose to go. I've done it before."

"You could," the Batman admitted flatly, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "But you said it yourself – it wouldn't be funny."

The Joker's eyes drifted down in thought a moment. He _loved_ these little moments between them, savored them, these moments where he was finally at a loss for words, where he finally had someone who could _match him_ at something. He could have fought back as the Batman slid the handcuffs onto his skeletal wrists, he certainly could have, but why? Simple banter with his foe made his day _far_ more than fighting and running from him did. That, and he was pretty sure that the Bat had broken a few ribs and potentially dislocated something, judging by the harsh twinge in his arm as it was pulled back to join his other in the cuffs. His darling always did play rough. Besides… the man had a point. Robert _wasn't_ funny anymore, not since he decided to break the shaky 'deal' between them. It was _far_ more fun watching him squirm than killing him could ever be…

His eyes slid back upwards to the Batman's face, acknowledging the emotionless mask there.

"You know, for once you're actually right, Bats," he admitted softly. "It's over, he's _not_ funny anymore. It's not even something worth killing him over…"

"Good to know you're at least sane enough to agree on that," the Batman dryly responded, walking over to the unconscious Harley to check on her. She wasn't waking up any time soon judging by the amount of damage she'd sustained. She'd need a visit to Arkham Asylum's medical wing to fix some of those cuts, he thought, cuffing her hands behind her back. "All clear, Jim."

A crackle of static emanated from somewhere near his cowl's ear, a gruff voice.

"Got it," the commissioner responded. "We're sending men in now. The family's safe, and the downstairs area of the house is secure. Child and wife are en route to Gotham General for their wounds. An elderly woman from the area called us in earlier; apparently she heard gunfire at this house and wanted us to investigate."

"Wait a minute, _elderly_ woman?" The Joker's face contorted in confusion. "You don't mean to say that Rose Penbrooke woman from down the way…?"

"Quiet, Joker," the Batman commanded, slinging the unconscious, limp Harley over his shoulder fireman-style.

"I _knew_ it! I _knew_ she'd be a squealer, the damned fool!" the Joker shrieked in annoyance. "I _told_ Harley to get rid of her while we had the chance, but that idiotic woman just _wouldn't kill her!_"

"Joker, that's _enough_," the Batman ordered as he grabbed the madman's arm and tugged him along. "You're both going to Arkham. _Now._"

"Of course we are," the Joker grumbled irritably. "No rest for the loonies…"

* * *

><p>Robert had to admit, the sight of the Batman so easily dragging his criminal cargo out of the house was certainly a strange one. After all, this <em>was<em> the man who'd threatened him and hurt his wife and child, and _now_ he was being forcibly dragged out in handcuffs. It was almost like watching the end of his novel, Robert thought as he observed from his location inside of the police cruiser. Almost like watching a mystery film's conclusion, save for one key detail.

The Joker found it all absolutely _hysterical._

In fact, he was _laughing_ as the Batman walked him down past the white paddy wagon, its side emblazoned with the words _Arkham Asylum_ encircling two entwined black letter A's. He was cackling wildly, joking and acting as if this were his grand exit from stage despite his battered, bruised, bleeding form and the iron grasp on his arm, almost entirely unfazed as he kept a calm, jovial pace with his captor, as if he and the Batman were merely taking a leisurely stroll in the park. If only he'd had the rationality to be humiliated by it all, the Joker's defeat would have been so much more satisfying. And as they walked past the police car that held Robert and a single officer, the Joker turned his head to look at him…

… And _smiled._

"Terribly sorry it had to end this way, Robert," he murmured, the words sounding every bit like a threat. "Nice being neighbors… for a while. We should do it again sometime! Sometime _soon_…"

"Quiet, Joker, you've terrorized him enough," the Batman growled, quickly pulling the clown away from the cruiser and towards the Batmobile.

"See you around, Bobby-boy!" the Joker cackled as the Batman hastily shoved him into the Batmobile and slammed the door shut. Not five seconds later, he himself was in the vehicle, engines gunning with a powerful roar, and the car sped into the night like a black bullet.

Robert should have been upset by the madman's comment. By all means, it should have scared him to death, should have made him fear for his family's further safety. That lunatic could trace them; he could do any number of terrible things. They'd have to move, and even that would be no guarantee. Yet Robert's mind still could not stop racing – not with terror, but with a strange sort of inspiration for the adventures of Detective Richard Holmes and his one-man forensic crusade against the Spratsville Strangler…


	9. Epilogue: Urban Renewal

****_A/N: It's been a long, long road, and the time to rest is now. This is the final chapter of The Neighborhood, a labor of love two years in the so much for sharing it with me, whether you read, reviewed, did both, or said nothing. It's the kind words of my readers and fans make all this worth it for me, and I owe you guys far more than I could hope to repay for it._

_For those wondering if there will be a sequel to this fic, the answer's no - very probably not. I think poor Robert Clearwater and his family have really had enough excitement for one lifetime, don't you think? That, and I don't know that much about other DC titles and their events to really write a sequel, because Lord knows the Clearwaters aren't moving back to Gotham City any time soon, if ever.  
><em>

_And that's about all, folks! Enjoy the epilogue, and I'll see you all later for my next fic - same Sugary time, same Sugary channel! ;3_

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue: Urban Renewal<br>**

_"Joker!"_

His violently green gaze slid lazily towards the barred, Plexiglas cell window, unimpressed by the young, black-haired guard standing a few feet before it. They always played macho with him, edging as close to the yellow caution line outside his cell door as they dared. They even hazed new guards by daring them to touch the cell door, just get close enough to touch it… and they always, _always_ ran, every last one of them.

The guard backed away slightly, imposed even by that simple gesture. What the lunatic was thinking, he didn't want to find out. He had only taken to patrolling this corridor because nobody else _wanted to._ Sure, it was only a few cells to check, only a few inmates to keep in line… but it was the home of the _worst few inmates_.

The Joker smirked in amusement. This guard was a fairly new one, only a few months into his job. He could always tell the new ones by the way they trembled under even a friendly look from him, let alone a smile… and God forbid he _laugh at them_. Sure enough, he was shaking, clinging to his tranquilizer gun as if it could offer much protection, like a security blanket. The Joker couldn't understand for the life of him _why_ these guards always shook so violently when they approached his cell, like a crack addict suffering _delirium tremens_ at the same time as withdrawal. They weren't much of a threat to him, true, but he rarely killed them for fun – their deaths simply weren't very amusing. But it _always_ amused him to toy with the new guards; they spooked so easily, and were even more easily manipulated …

_All fun and games until someone loses limbs, isn't it?_ He thought, eyes daring the guard to approach further, toothy grin promising danger if he did.

Then again, he, like the guard, had been playing his cards safely lately, very safely. Playing at good behavior was always the best way to facilitate an easy escape later, and what that didn't fix, good old-fashioned manipulation always did. And what _that_ didn't fix… well, it _was_ dreadfully difficult for a dead man to argue, wasn't it? Besides, his favorite party game was charades, and it was so out-of-his-skull _boring_ in Arkham even when he had people to torment; what else was he to do with himself?

"You rang?" he mocked, sitting up on the edge of the padded cell's cot and smoothing the wrinkles out of his orange inmate uniform. Amazing how they always had one that fit a man of his stature and skeletally thin physique, he must have destroyed thousands of the damn things in his escapes by now. But at least they were comfortable, pajama-like in their loose fit.

"You have mail, clown, and a package," the guard grumbled, trying to appear brave as he warily edged closer to the cell door and unceremoniously shoved a myriad of letters through a thin slot just barely large enough for such a purpose. "Can't imagine what sick fuck out there likes sending _you_ mail. Don't get too excited, there's nothing special in the box, just baked goods. We checked. Stay back from the door, you know the drill."

The Joker smirked and watched as a slightly wider door opened and the shipping box fell through.

"Oh, you. It warms my heart to know that you care _so much_ about my package," he quipped, gathering the mail into one large pile.

"Shut up," the guard mumbled as he shook his head and left, ignoring the clown's soft chuckling. Lord knew he had better things to do than deal with the Joker's terrible sense of humor, and besides, any excuse to get away from the clown was definitely a good one.

The Joker slid onto the cell's floor, sitting cross-legged as his spidery, deft hands spread the various letters before him. Most were in plain white envelopes, but some bore colorful ones, and these he always read last, if ever – they only ever contained mail from the city's desperate (and disturbed) females, anyway. It always did astonish him how interested (and insane) supposedly 'normal' people were, sending _him_ fan mail. _Him!_ Then again, it wasn't that surprising – he _was_ quite talented. And handsome. And single, provided Harley didn't find out. And besides, fan mail, much like the funny pages and the obituaries in the daily paper, was always good for a laugh.

But he wasn't interested in the letters, not now anyway. No, he was far more intrigued by the box with the blacked-out address on the label (to spare the senders a response, though he wasn't allowed to have any writing implements anyway after what had happened the _last_ time he'd been allowed a pencil), which rested off to one side, the packing tape on it disorganized from the guards' snooping. Something about 'baked goods'.

Curiously, the Joker snatched the box from the floor and pried the tape off. Inside were about a dozen snickerdoodle cookies and a thin paper plate, the confections jarred from their position on the latter by the guards' rough handling of the box.

His eyes sparked with an almost boyish delight. Nobody had ever sent him cookies before, let alone his favorite kind, not even Harley. He suspected that the only reason the guards hadn't eaten any of the cookies was that they were wrapped in clear cellophane that had been securely duct-taped shut, and they hadn't been able to tear through the multiple layers with their grimy fingers. But who had sent them, and why?

He pulled out the wrapped cookies and the paper plate, setting both aside. Underneath both was a thick soft-cover novel, apparently a mystery noir tale entitled _Laughter After Midnight_. The author's name, embossed on the cover beneath a picture of two evil-looking eyes and a Cheshire Cat-like grin peering from the shadows, read "From Best-Selling Author Robert Clearwater".

The Joker's verdant eyebrows arched in surprised. _That_ Clearwater? Robert Clearwater, Bobby-boy, Robbie from the block, the man he'd nearly killed in an attempt to keep him from telling his location, had sent him a copy of a novel he'd written? _Why?_ He wasn't even aware that Robert _was_ an accomplished writer!

He flipped open the cover, revealing a black ink note in a neat handwriting, apparently Robert's handwriting. It read:

_J,_

_Real serial killers and other criminals from around the Gotham City area, especially you, were the inspiration for the antagonist  
>of this novel. I didn't give you credit in the story for your influence as that could be seen as… inappropriate, so I decided<br>this would be the best way to credit you. You made for a perfectly twisted antagonist and a great story to tell; I couldn't have made  
>this story as powerful as I did without your inspiration. Enjoy the novel, and enjoy the cookies.<em>

_ R. Clearwater_

The Joker couldn't help it. He laughed. The whole thing, the cookies, the scaremongering, his time as Robert's next door neighbor… it was all so _ridiculous._ After being in such danger for such a long time, he was _thanking him?_ Little Bobby-boy, too-boring-to-keep-stalking Bobby, was actually _thanking him_ for inspiring a novel of all things? It had to be a joke, some sort of absurd joke…

He'd certainly _have_ to respond as soon as he got out of this place… Call it fanmail?

The Joker had never laughed harder and longer in his life than he did at _that_ thought. So hard, he felt his intestines would spill onto the padded floor of his cell; so long, it rang through the dingy, decrepit stone hallways of Arkham Asylum for the rest of the night…

* * *

><p>"Robert, did you sneak extra cookies again?" Alicia tutted disapprovingly. "I baked close to four dozen snickerdoodles a week or so ago, and I <em>know<em> I didn't miscount. I never miscount."

"I don't know, love, I might have snuck a few," Robert responded, peering up from the computer screen and his latest novel. Their new home was spacious and beautiful for an apartment, with a magnificent view of the Metropolis skyline. It was a nice change of pace, city life, at least when the city was a relatively safe one – or at least, that's what the realtor had said about it. And Alicia loved it here, or at least she gave that impression.

"A few?" Alicia laughed incredulously. "_A few?_ Robert, there's at least a dozen missing from that batch! I was going to send some over to Lois and Clark next door."

"Okay, okay, I stole some," he laughed, setting the laptop aside and pulling Alicia into his lap. "You caught me red-handed."

"You're _always_ getting into trouble, aren't you?" Alicia teased, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Always," he replied, smirking. "You know, _Laughter_ sold well, but I think the sequel is going to sell even better. Still haven't got a title yet, though."

"Well, it'll come to you, it always does," Alicia said, settling on the couch next to him. "Oh, the mail came, by the way. Fan mail, I guess. Apparently, we have some fans back in Gotham. All came through the publishing house though." She set a small stack of letters on the couch next to him and rose. "Is pizza okay for dinner? I don't feel like cooking tonight."

"That's fine, Alicia, just fine," Robert responded, and Alicia smiled as she disappeared into the workroom.

Robert picked up the letters and sorted through them idly, one in particular catching his eye. It was a violet envelope, addressed to the publishing house in a flamboyant hand. The bright green ink scrawl was clearly from some variety of gel pen or custom ink pen well; where else did one get neon green ink? Curiously, he turned the letter over, observing an old-fashioned wax seal in an oddly attractive blood red. The seal bore the mark of a smiling jester. Oh, he knew the sender of this letter alright, and it startled him greatly, almost enough to drop the envelope. He hadn't actually expected response from _him_, but it wasn't very surprising. The Joker hadn't struck Robert as the type of man to eschew formalities like this…

Robert carefully slid the tip of his letter opener under the envelope's seal, breaking the wax easily, and opened it. Inside rested a pale lavender sheet of paper, the hand-written message there scribed in the same green ink and same flamboyant hand.

_Bobby,_ it read,

_Strangest thing – a man and a clown walk into a suburban neighborhood, the clown keeps making fun of the man,  
>and the man <em>_**still**__ credits the clown with his life's work – and then they have the nerve to call the clown mad!  
>You always did know how to amuse. The cookies were delicious by the way. And now I know a best-selling author, don't I!<br>I'll bet you anything that the Batman can't claim that! Don't worry about me, I'm done with you, we've had enough fun…  
>Unless you <em>_**do**__ come back to Gotham, that is – then we just might have to do it all again, for old time's sake.  
>I'm not usually one to send obsessive fan mail either (though Harley just might), so consider this your first and only<br>warning – I can __**always**__ find you. Keep smiling!_

_- J_

Robert swallowed nervously and hastily stuffed the letter into its envelope. The authorities at Arkham had assured him it was safe. They said he couldn't get mail back through, they said it was impossible, and he did it… _by_ _escaping Arkham entirely._

There was no way he was telling Alicia about this. The less said to her or to himself about the madman the better, even if he _had_ deserved credit for inspiring the novel. He should never have sent that package, and now he was kicking himself for it. He could have been tracked easily. He could still be tracked now. He'd been lucky enough the first time. It was stupid, the whole idea was just _stupid_…

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Tracy squealed excitedly, running up to him from her bedroom.

Robert jolted.

"Hi, pumpkin," he said, smiling and putting the letter out of sight and mind. "What's up?"

"Daddy, I saw a flying man next door!" Tracy cried, her eyes wide with wonder. "He flewed off the rooftop daddy!"

Robert's smile widened into a grin. Tracy had such an imagination, such an overactive imagination. It was healthy, and he was always amazed that she'd made it out of the Gotham situation so well. To be young and innocent again…

"No, really?" he said, tickling her and watching her squeal with giggles. "Like a bird?"

"Like a birdie, daddy!" she chirped, wrapping her tiny arms about Robert's legs.

"Alright, alright," Robert laughed, picking her up into his lap. "But you know, I really do think Mr. Kent is too busy with work to do any flying…"


	10. Acknowledgements

**Acknowledgements for **_**The Neighborhood**_

It's become a little bit of a tradition of mine to end long fics like this one with a list of acknowledgements to the people who inspired my fics, or otherwise helped me with them. I don't do this for most fics for the simple reason that I mostly write short fanfiction, so when I do write long ones it's somewhat of a special occasion.

This fic took me two years to write, edit, compile, type, beta, and post here on FFN. It is the first of many things for me in the DCU. It was the first time I have written any sort of interaction between Batman and the Joker. The first time I have written Harley Quinn as a main character in a story (this fic was written long before my short Harley fic _Dreaming_). The first time I have written Batman as a character _ever_. And finally, it was the first time in years I have written a multi-chaptered fanfiction since _Locusani: Revilani_, the sequel to my celebrated Myst Universe fanfiction, _Locusani: Saavedro's Tale_. It took me around a year alone to write it all out simply because I was busy with chemistry classes in college at the time, and it took another year to type and publish for the same reason (but with different chemistry classes!). After finishing the first draft, I typed about a chapter a week or every two weeks, taking breaks where I had to for other projects going on at the same time. It was a long effort, but ultimately worth all the struggles in the end.

I would like to thank the following people for helping me make this fic a reality.

First of all, I want to thank DC Comics for being the sole reason that the _Batman_ comics exist. The great stories, the not-so-great stories, all are part of the medium as with any medium. In particular, I really have to thank Bob Kane for creating _Batman_, both the comics and the character. Long live Gotham, its friends and its foes, and the stories therein. More particularly, I want to give my thanks to Jerry Robinson, who created the Joker with nothing more than an idea, a sketch of a playing card, and the now immortal words, "Here's the Joker". He unfortunately passed away on December 7th, 2011 (when I was still typing out the first chapters of this fic), leaving behind a magnificent legacy in comic lore and one Hell of a character. Since the Joker's inception as a creepy, clown-faced murderer, he's gone further in getting to Batman than any other of his villains have, and evolved into a threat worthy of the title of the Caped Crusader's nemesis. It'd be wrong of me, then, if I didn't dedicate this story to the man who brought the clown to life. Rest in peace, Jerry, and thanks for all the laughs.

I have to thank my Beta reader and good friend Harls Quinn (though she goes by Heath Jack Napier now since she cosplays at various Cons as Ledger!Joker). Without her help, I would never have gotten Harley's Brooklyn accent down nearly as well as I did, would never have been able to characterize her very well, and my fic in general would have been a mess. It's because of her that this story works. She also provided me a lot of moral support through the making of this fic, along with support for my difficult class work in Organic Chemistry!

I would also like to thank my little brother, who became a young Batman fan after he played through _Batman: Arkham Asylum_ and _Arkham City_, and was a great person to bounce unanswered questions off of when I needed a second opinion on the Joker, Harley, and Batman. Here's to hoping you keep delving into the comics, bro. There's a lot of great stories out there you haven't even read yet – my collection of Joker-centric titles only scratches the surface! I ain't even mad you laughed when I said the Visitor Center in _Asylum_ was creepier than the Scarecrow nightmares were.

On that note, thank you, Eidos, Square Enix and Rocksteady Entertainment, for creating the epic video games _Batman: Arkham Asylum_ and _Batman: Arkham City_. There is nothing better after becoming frustrated with homework, writer's block, and life in general then popping in one of those games and beating the tar out of a few goons. It also gave me a refresher on Batman and the Joker as characters, though the latter is nowhere _near_ as crazy or dangerous in this fic as he was in the games. Plus, _original voice cast from the DCAU for three of the major characters_. And you made Scarecrow and the Riddler, two other favorite baddies of mine, plausible threats as villains (seriously, the Riddler was like Jigsaw from the _Saw_ films but more affable, and that's crazy awesome!). May you make many more epic games like these, as I and many others are still waiting on an Arkham Three. One request, though – could you _please_ make the Riddler challenges harder, so I actually have to think? Finding them all was excessively easy for a veteran puzzle-lover like me; the Riddler can be _way_ more devious in devising challenges and hiding things than that…

I want to thank all of my friends and fellow coulrophiles at RancidRainbow, a Joker fansite that's very close to my heart, for being there to talk to about my fic and for answering the unanswered questions that my brother couldn't. This fic was advertised there before anywhere else, way back in November of 2011, and it even got its first piece of fanart from a fan of mine there! Sorry the publishing date got pushed back so far guys, but things got in the way. Things always get in the way. Like Batman interrupting the Joker's latest heist to punch him in the face, class work disrupted my plans for the fic and put it on hold for a bit. But I said Winter would be its release date, I meant Winter, and in the midst of Winter it came.

I would like to thank my boyfriend, whom I met and began dating during the course of the project, and whom I will refer to as D for privacy's sake. Thanks so much for the moral support throughout this project and for sticking with me despite my busy schedule. D, you are the Robin to my Batman, the Rose Tyler to my Doctor, the Y to my X, and the S-enantiomer to my R-enantiomer. You lift me up when I feel like I can't continue, you remind me to slow down and take things easy when I get frustrated, and you give me strength when I feel too weak to continue. Lots of love, babe.

An enormous amount of gratitude goes to those who left reviews for this fic and to my long-term fans who have stuck with me through thick and thin. Whether you were here from the beginning of the story, the beginning of my career as a fanfic author, or somewhere in the middle, your comments and support always make my day. I appreciate every bit of praise – and every bit of critique – you guys send me; praise makes my ego happy and critique makes me a better author. Here's to a brand new year of nifty things!

Mad props go out to everyone who read this fic, you're the reason why I keep writing. It reminds me there are people who _do_ still want to read my stuff, and proves that my chosen fandom, the Bat-verse, is alive and thriving even when the going gets rough and DC Comics makes some... iffy continuity decisions (Tell me _why_ again Barbara Gordon is Batgirl once more when so many, including myself, deeply love and respect Oracle and/or the other Batgirls?). I also believe it proves once and for all that not all fanfic is terrible, and that a fanfic doesn't have to be a trashy porno or romancefic to gain props in the fandom community. Stereotypes happen, and I'm on a one-woman vigilante crusade to battle those stereotypes in fanfiction – not just in the DCU/DCnU, but also as a whole. As we all know, Mary-Sues are a superstitious and cowardly lot...

And finally, reader, thank _you_ for reading this fic yourself! I hope you enjoyed it and, if you haven't already, check out the rest of my fanfics. There's a lot of good stuff on my author's page, so go take a look. You may be pleasantly surprised by what you find...


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